White Candle Day: Honoring the Wild We Couldn’t Save

On 17 August, I will light a white candle—not for celebration, but for remembrance. I first saw this beautiful ritual shared by another carer, and it stayed with me. A quiet act of grief and grace. A way to honor the wildlife we couldn’t save, despite everything we gave.

This candle burns for Charlie, Rosie, Rossie, Ellie—and for Chippy, the critically endangered Ringtail Possum who died in my care from preventable kidney failure. It burns for the joeys who arrived too late, the possums who never learned to forage, the magpies who lost their mates. It burns for the unnamed, the unspoken, the ones whose stories ended before they could begin.

But this day isn’t just about them. It’s also about us—the carers.

The Emotional Cost of Care

Wildlife carers live in a space few understand. We hold life in our hands, knowing how fragile it is. We wake to feed, soothe, and monitor. We learn the language of pain, the signs of decline, the weight of hope. And sometimes, despite our best efforts, we lose them.

The grief is not clinical. It’s personal. It’s the ache of watching a joey take its last breath in your arms. It’s the guilt of wondering if you missed something. It’s the fury at systems that fail, at misinformation that kills, at the loneliness of carrying stories no one else sees.

We don’t just lose animals—we lose futures. Potential. Connection. And we carry those losses quietly, because the world rarely makes space for this kind of mourning.

Why White Candle Day Matters

White Candle Day gives us that space. It’s not a public campaign or a trending hashtag. It’s a moment of stillness. A way to say: I remember. I cared. I still do.

It’s a chance to honor the emotional labour of carers. To acknowledge that behind every rescue is a risk. Behind every recovery, a thousand sleepless nights. And behind every loss, a heart that breaks and keeps going.

So today, I invite you—whether you’re a carer, an advocate, or simply someone who loves wildlife—to light a candle. Speak a name. Share a story. Let this day be a collective act of remembrance.

Because grief is love with nowhere to go. And remembrance is resistance.