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The Dos And Don’ts Of Talking To Homicide-Loss Parents

May 14, 2018 By Katja Faber

Most people don’t know how to speak to a homicide-loss parent. They’re lost for words. I get that — homicide is very frightening. So, here’s a list of dos and don’ts to remember:

1. Call the murder victim by their name. Homicide loss survivors are no different from other child loss parents or siblings — they need to hear their loved one’s name. This is even more important once the police investigation and judicial process get underway because the victim will end up being dehumanized by the authorities. No one wants to hear their loved one being referred to as “the body” or “the deceased,” so don’t add to the family’s pain and instead, make sure you use their child’s name.

2. Don’t call the murder or homicide by any other name other than murder or homicide. This may sound odd, but people often try to avoid the bloody reality of homicide by referring to it as an “accident” or “incident” If someone is shot, it’s a shooting, and however tragic the loss, avoid “tragedy” and use “murder.” If someone’s child is raped and strangled, it’s not OK to refer to it as “an unfortunate event,” it’s a rape and murder. So instead, say something like “I’m so very sorry Sarah was killed.” In so doing, you will be acknowledging their grief as well as the suffering their child endured.

3. Never tell the co-victim that they are “wallowing” or “should put it behind them.” Homicide loss lasts a lifetime, there is no getting over it. Putting pressure on the survivors to hurry up their grief work will only add to their anguish and sense of betrayal. Most co-victims report never attaining a sense of closure however many years have passed.

4. Don’t say “If it was me…” because you’ll do more harm than good. Instead, be a good listener, respect their experience and allow the co-victim to be exactly where they are in their grief.

5. Don’t regurgitate what’s in the newspapers or tell them rumours you’ve heard because it’ll only increase their distress. Unless you have hard evidence, which is important for the case and should be passed on to the police, don’t discuss gossip or media coverage unless the family asks you to do so.

6. Don’t compare your experience of grief to theirs. The unexpected and violent nature of the killing, the extent of the injuries, the media intrusion, the criminal justice system… these and other factors make the challenges of homicide loss unique.

7. Don’t tell them you know how they’re feeling. Instead, say something like “What you are going through is beyond anything I can imagine.”

8. Don’t say “I don’t know how you survive, I know I couldn’t.” They have no choice in the matter. Their child was murdered through no fault of their own and they’re having to cope as best they can. Instead, acknowledge the extent of their devastation by saying something like “I’m at a loss as to what to say.”

9. Never tell them “things happen for a reason” or “he/she is in a better place now.” Even if a belief worked for you, don’t evangelize. A co-victim’s world has been smashed. They may be having a crisis of faith, struggling with feelings of guilt, or simply do not share your views. But for sure, they won’t think that their loved one is better off dead than alive and happy.

10. Never tell a co-victim to be strong. They’re already being strong beyond anything you could imagine. Suppressing their emotions will cause further psychological damage, so say “I’m here for you” and “it must take everything you’ve got just to keep going.” Giving them the allowance to cry and to not be strong is a gift. Encourage them to express their feelings by saying things like “what you’re feeling is understandable” or “I’m glad you are talking to me.”

11. Don’t tell a co-victim that anger is bad or inappropriate. Anger is a natural response to homicide loss. Rage can come and go and, in many cases, can last years. They’ll not only struggle with their loss and the manner of their child’s last moments, but they may also have to navigate the justice system. Validate their feelings with statements such as “no wonder you are angry” or “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.” Don’t tell them that their rage is exaggerated or unseemly because expressing it is an important component of acceptance.

12. Don’t tell them that “it’ll be fine” or “justice will be done” because you can’t know, and often the opposite is true. In many cases, the killer is never arrested or the criminal justice system fails homicide-loss families. Pretending “it’s all going to work out” in a bid to cheer them up is unhelpful because what you are doing is negating their well-founded fears. Co-victims often come to the realization that the criminal justice system, which they thought was on their side, is anything but that. It’s therefore important to validate and acknowledge their worries, so say “I hear you” or “this doesn’t seem right, no wonder you are concerned and angry.”

13. Don’t ever suggest that the victim was in any way to blame for their own murder.

14. Don’t ever express any sympathy for the murderer or tell the co-victim that they should forgive the killer. The co-victim’s response to the killer is their business and no one else’s. Telling them that they should feel kindly towards the killer is like a slap to the face.

15. Don’t say “I think about you all the time.” This comes across as selfish. Instead, act upon the thinking and show you care by calling, writing, or visiting.

16. Should you become concerned about a co-victim’s mental or physical health, encourage them to seek medical treatment. The ongoing impact of homicide loss cannot be overemphasized.

Perhaps, most importantly, if you’re still unsure as to what to say, say nothing and instead stay with the co-victim, allowing them space to openly grieve. Your silent presence will be ‘heard’ as if it were words of support and love.

Published in Still Standing Magazine, 2nd May 2018

Day Of Action — 7 children shot dead every day in the US is 7 too many

April 18, 2018 By Katja Faber

We may all have different opinions regarding gun control, and that’s our right and how it should be. But whatever our views, that does not mean we shouldn’t support the amazing students marching peacefully this Friday. The April 20 Day of Action marks the anniversary of the Columbine High School shooting in Colorado in 1999 when 12 students and one teacher were killed. The terrible reality is, that in the time between my uploading this article and the teenagers walking out on Friday, approximately another 14 children will have been shot dead in the US.

Young people deserve a better, safer world than the one they’ve inherited. And whatever peaceful activism it takes for that change to happen, I’m right behind it.

The statistics speak for themselves: the USA has the highest homicide rate by guns of any developed country, and that figure is way off the charts. If sensible gun control results in fewer innocent lives lost, then who would want to go against anything that counters that? Fewer children murdered? How can that be a bad thing? No one here is talking about zero guns or doing away with the 2nd Amendment. What is being mooted is stricter controls and better checks. The arguments have become so polarized that no one is talking anymore and the middle ground has been lost in the heated arguments.

The world these students live in is dangerous — their childhood has been plagued by lock-down drills at school so they’re only too well aware of the chances of being caught up in gun violence. They’re right to protest and demand that their communities are safer. It’s a good thing they are getting out and making a noise, and that they’re willing to stand up for a better tomorrow because it certainly isn’t going to be a better tomorrow if someone doesn’t do something about it.

Switzerland is safe yet people own guns

If you doubt that it’s possible to make changes that are well-thought through and reasonable, look to the UK or Australia, two countries that changed gun laws following massacres in 1996 (Dunblane and Port Arthur respectively) simply because normal people were willing to say ‘not one child more’. There hasn’t been a massacre in either country since. Similarly, in Switzerland, many households own a gun as the country’s army is, in fact, a militia, yet gun controls mean that shootings of others are rare. There hasn’t been a mass shooting in Switzerland since 2001 when a man stormed a local government building and killed 14 politicians and then himself. Compare that with the US — data from the Gun Violence Archive shows that on average there’s a mass shooting (defined as four or more people shot in one incident) nine out of every 10 days. In 2017 alone, 346 mass shootings took place in the US with a total of 65 shootings being reported on school grounds.

In the USA the figures speak for themselves. Every year, 17,102 American children and teens are shot. Of those, 2,737 don’t make it and end up dead from gun violence. That’s seven children and teens killed every day. If you look at the statistics for adults, you’d be forgiven for questioning the numbers because they are so shocking: 116,255 people in America are shot of which 35,141 die in any given year.

It seems to me that parents deserve to feel calm when their kids go to school, and children should not fear for their lives when they’re learning. So here’s hoping that these Walk Outs and Marches achieve their goal and politicians start to listen. Isn’t that something to aim for?

Photos courtesy of Pexels

Walk Out, Get Angry: A Homicide-Loss Mother’s Perspective on the Florida School Shooting

April 7, 2018 By Katja Faber

As news reports of the High School shooting in Florida hit my computer screen I felt my heartbeat quicken and my mouth go dry. The students’ screams of terror were like a punch to my stomach leaving me winded and crying. This is a common response if you’re a homicide-loss mother.

Photo credit: geralt / Pixabay

Parents of murdered children often can’t help but transpose the terror of victims to what they imagine their own child endured. All I could think was ‘No! Not again!’ At that moment, each and every child within the Florida building could have been my own.

For those of you who don’t know my story, my son Alex was the victim of a brutal and sadistic homicide in 2014. I know only too well what these murders mean for the families directly affected by the killings and the thought drags me back into despair.

In an act of self-care, I avoided all news for 48 hours. By the time I tuned back in again, I noticed that a major shift in media coverage had taken place. Instead of news bulletins detailing the killing spree, what I saw were young people and parents standing strong and voicing their feelings. The survivors had not only seen their friends executed but they had also feared for their lives. They spoke eloquently and journalists were listening. In fact, the whole world seemed to be listening.

Photo credit: elizabethaferry / Pixabay

I was impressed by the teenagers’ display of feelings — sorrow, incomprehension, and above all, anger. In fact, I felt huge relief in seeing so many of the students pick up a mic, take to the streets, and shout out their pain and sense of injustice.

I know from personal experience, from my still-living children’s, and from talking to other homicide-loss survivors, that when it’s your own child or family member who has been murdered, anger is a major part of what you feel. It’s an involuntary, natural reaction and expressing it is vitally important.

But let’s be clear. When I talk of anger in the context of homicide loss I don’t mean anger as it’s usually defined — a reaction to frustration. What I’m referring to is something different — it’s an emotion that comes from the gut, a biological, visceral reaction to the killing of your child or loved one. Homicide-loss anger is instinctive. It’s as primal an emotion as it gets.

The powerful energy generated by this type of anger must be released because otherwise, it will eat you up. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. How are we, homicide co-victims, meant to freely express this primeval emotion if those around us feel uncomfortable in witnessing what they perceive to be anti-social displays of raw feelings?

Anger is something our society doesn’t do well, if at all. The majority of people are afraid of anger because they’re afraid of losing control and, in turn, they recoil at the expression of rage by others. We’re told to ‘deal’ with anger, that we need to identify the source of our discomfort and then get through it and put it behind us. We believe that anger is invariably ugly and often violent. From an early age, we’re taught that to express anger is to risk social isolation and that it comes with negative consequences. So we learn to hide it and in so doing, we adjust to society’s norms.

We all understand that a civilized society needs adults who can control their instinctive, primary impulses because the alternative is anarchy and chaos. So when anger rears its head, we bow our own and control the impulse to lash out. We learn to box in our anger and label it as misplaced frustration allowing us to believe that it is tamed as we try to identify the source of our distress.

Photo: MakyFoto / Pixabay

Yet for homicide-loss survivors, the pushing away of their anger comes at a cost. We haven’t tamed anger, we’ve caged it. It’s still there, frightening and wild, and poised to break free at any moment when we least expect. We don’t need to spend time identifying the source of our anger because we know what it is — the killer and anything and everything that helped him or her murder our loved one. In some cases, we may rage at God for allowing it to happen. We have been violated because our loved one has been willfully killed. We feel outraged, threatened and traumatized by our loss and what was done to the person we love. Without realizing it, our own survival instinct has been triggered and it is overwhelmingly powerful.

Our reaction to the taking of our loved ones’ life comes from the pit of our stomach. It is instinct; pure and simple. It’s an energy that will not allow itself to be tamed, destroyed or dismissed. It is the force that ensures the survival of our DNA.

Keeping this natural, instinctive reaction to murder under control takes huge amounts of energy. It also stops us from moving forward in our grief journey to a place of acceptance, and ultimately, healing. It is imperative that co-victims find a safe but effective way to vent their rage otherwise the trauma of homicide loss will fester within them and the path towards healing will be compromised.

That is why I feel relief on seeing the students organize marches and demonstrations. That is why I’m rooting for them as they walk today in March for Our Lives. That is why I’ll support anyone who takes up the fight for justice for their loved one killed through violence. Because it is vitally important that they do.

Homicide-loss anger that’s expressed has the power to be transformative, whereas anger that is caged and repressed will most probably result in long-lasting psychological trauma. Co-victims have suffered quite enough without also having to comply with society’s expectations of how they should behave. It’s a form of societal-imposed self-harm for the benefit of appearances. Why is this? Why should those who have suffered one of the most extreme forms of loss be expected to shield the rest of society from their grief?

The students of Florida deserve our support and admiration not only because they’re demonstrating controlled, focused anger at a time of deep grief but because they’re helping to make our society more compassionate and just.

They’re showing the world that there is space for anger when it comes from a place of love. They are standing up for what they believe in, and I am glad. I’m certain that the more they allow themselves to feel these powerful emotions, the more they’ll ultimately heal. And they deserve no less.

Published in Still Standing Magazine, 23rd March 2018

No Altar At Which To Lay My Aching Soul

March 21, 2018 By Katja Faber

Over the Easter weekend, we as a family celebrate in our own secular, non-churchgoing way — an early morning chocolate egg hunt followed by a big breakfast featuring a bunny-shaped bread and Easter egg tree. Our family has passed this Swiss tradition down from one generation to the next. It’s without a doubt my favourite annual ritual, beating Christmas stockings hands down. Yet adherence to the Christian calendar doesn’t make me a believer. This meant that when my son was killed I was frightened and alone in my despair. At times I envied those with a cast iron faith because I, on the other hand, had no altar at which to lay my aching soul.

The Swiss tradition of painted Easter eggs

It would comfort me if I was certain that my son inhabits the spirit world but I simply don’t know. I wish I did because truth is, I miss Alex desperately and it would help me if I believed that an ethereal angel-like version of him watches over me as I go about my day. But scientific predictions in quantum mechanics and the laws of thermodynamics dissolve my chance of being a worshiper, and so I fail to see my son as a celestial being like those depicted on a crumbling Renaissance church wall.

The child I’ve buried may not have wings, but that doesn’t mean I don’t talk to him because I do. I regularly catch myself asking him something in a natural act of motherly love and then stop short as I again question my own belief system. In those moments I’m left teetering on the edge of emotional angst, unsure as to how to knead together what I feel in my heart and what science tells me. It’s a tough balancing act, with no guidelines, no rules, no one to show me what’s what or why.

Science doesn’t help me to make sense of the unanswerable and religion doesn’t calm my gnawing doubts. Dealing with such thoughts makes my head spin and hurts my broken heart. That I don’t understand how it all fits together — eternal life, dark matter, the creation story, the multiverse — is not surprising because, as far as I can see, neither does anyone else. Is there a cosmic force? A divine plan? Are we part of a universal consciousness? Am I and my son, and everyone and everything connected on some quantum level, entangled throughout space-time whatever our physical state? If no energy gets created in the universe and none is destroyed, is my Alex still here, or there, or everywhere?

The fact is, I do believe in something even if that something is elusive and weird and physicists try but fail to explain it in formulas that I don’t comprehend. I sense that there’s more to IT all because I have experienced moments of presence, of connection, of instantaneous telepathy with my dying child. I believe it ain’t over when we breathe our last.

So I cling to my own evolving and undefined subatomic particle spirituality because without it I would have to accept that my child is gone forever. My son may be different now, pure energy perhaps, but I believe that something of his essence somewhere in some form still exists. I refuse to accept that my Alex isn’t vibrating on a bizarre alternative multidimensional level because given it’s possible, you can be sure that’s where he’ll be.

So here I am, a loss mother managing her grief within a self-made crucible of scientific knowledge and personal imagination. It’s a make-it-up-as-I-go-along type of spirituality which neither rejects other people’s faiths nor imposes a dogma on anyone else. We are none of us given the choice but to navigate this gruesome loss journey as best we can. Yet in respecting each others’ way of coping we’re able to live out the one universal truth that unites us all, and that is Love, possibly the strongest force in the cosmos and one which needs absolutely no explaining.

Photo: Geralt ¦ Pixabay

Published in Still Standing Magazine, 17th March 2018

Photo credit: Oliver Wiesenberg

Anniversaries I Never Even Knew Existed

March 16, 2018 By Katja Faber

The 26th March 2018 will mark the first anniversary of the start of the trial. On that day a year ago, I drove myself and my family to the Courthouse, parked the car and nervously walked up the steps to the entrance under the watchful gaze of lawyers, officials, and the public.

I’ve tried not to add the date to the already burgeoning homicide-loss calendar that’s imprinted on my heart. But to be honest, I’ve failed. Many of the emotions I felt this time last year are floating back up to the surface, bubbling up unexpectedly and interrupting my thoughts as I go about my day. I find myself focusing on the time I spent in Court as I deal with the swell of emotion that invariably accompanies the loss of a child through murder.

Alex’s 2nd Birthday

It’s inevitable that the 26th March will become a date I remember, another anniversary post-loss. How could it not be? The culmination of over two years of stress and anguish, of meetings with lawyers, of seemingly endless legal costs, of fear and uncertainty?

No one told me about this homicide-grief calendar, this keeper of painful dates that I would remember whether I wanted to or not. Having previously lost my parents, other family members, and friends, I assumed that the date of birth, death and of the funeral were the three days that would accompany my grief. And that would be it.

Well, it turns out, I was wrong. In the case of homicide loss, there are many other additional dates apart from birth, death, and burial. This is because each and every important event post-loss is so traumatic that it wounds our heart irrevocably. My inner grief calendar is now strewn with Xs marking significant days across the entire year. There’s Alex’s last day alive, 29th December. The morning the police arrived at my door. The day I chose the coffin and urn. The day we were allowed take Alex’s body out of the forensic institute morgue. The day his personal effects were delivered in a brown cardboard box …

You get the picture.

And now my heart has added what I call the ‘legal’ days to the already full calendar. Dotted across the year are the dates that pushed me to the edge of endurance as the justice system creaked into action: my interview with the police; the first time I saw the killer; the morning I read the indictment; the start of the trial; the day of the Sentencing…

Yes, this is a grief calendar I never knew existed but regrettably, exist it does.

Walk With My Sister

March 14, 2018 By Katja Faber

I wish to dedicate this song “Walk With My Sister” to all those who have lost a sibling. I know only too well how heartbreaking it is to live on without a brother or sister having seen my own children struggle to come to terms with the death of Alex.

This is a home recording of a song composed and sung by me, with lyrics written by me, one afternoon whilst on the farm. Sergio Sands is on guitar and without his help, it would not have been possible to record the song as I don’t even own a mic. I have found that creating music is cathartic in helping to express the feelings deep inside of me. When we recorded it, we weren’t intending to share it with anyone. But losing Alex has shown me that what you think one day can be totally different the next. So here it is.

I hope you find comfort in the words as you travel the road of grief.

Alex’s brother and sister

Gardening Through Grief

March 11, 2018 By Katja Faber

My childhood is blessed with memories of apple orchards, picking blackberries, raking autumn leaves and snowmen. And yes, of gardening, of being a reluctant helper in my parents’ soggy vegetable plot. When I started a family I knew I wanted my children to feel compassion and connected to living things. I’d been working in a city for a great many years, yet in gently showing them the flora and fauna of our planet something quickly became apparent — to touch nature’s extraordinary power was to be drawn back into its grace.

Credit: Kristina Paukshtite

Twenty years went by and, much to everyone’s surprise, I changed careers and began to farm. One day, as my son Alex planted seedlings he looked at me and said, “You haven’t bought a fruit farm, mum, you’ve bought a life, it’s going to be your new life.” Peaceful, happy moments spent with my children gardening and growing food with our bare hands.

And then the unimaginable happened: Alex was murdered.

With his death, my life was forever changed. That new life he had imaged for me, had helped plan with me; it now seemed to me impossible. Future dreams were an absurdity in the face of such devastation. So deep was my pain that the world fell into a greyscale and nature lost its colours. No scents, no hues, no birdsong. I was impervious to its energy; nothing could penetrate my grief.

The months passed and I remained in the dark, desolate pit of grief. Breathing exhausted me; living was hell.

But nature waits for no man, least of all a woman who has to farm. The seasons continued to pass and forced me to accompany them as best I could. It did not matter that I had to drag myself outside, the fact is I did.

And this is what I learned — that nature heals.

By being in nature, by immersing myself in it, by touching it, smelling it, working with it, I let myself become a part of it. It wasn’t the physical activity of gardening that made the difference, though I don’t doubt that endorphins released by exertion do lift the mood. Scientific research shows that gardening lowers stress levels.¹ It also reduces inflammation — a precursor to heart disease, depression, and diabetes.² And soil bacteria really do boost our immune system.

It was far more than that, though. As I helped my young trees and vegetables grow, so I was growing me. If I cried and screamed, there was no one to take offence or pass judgement. Instead, the earth and rustling of the young branches soothed me, the rain washed my face, the cricket and cicada song touched my soul. What helped me cope with the horror and destruction of Alex’s death was nature itself.

I learned that I could not hasten nature’s pace any more than I could bring back my dead son. In being forced to accept patience, I also re-learned the acceptance of the cycle of life and death.

I learned to face my own son’s death.

Gardening through Grief — credit: Benjamin Combs/Unsplash

As the months turned into a year, then two and three, I became a part of the very nature I was nurturing. I gained a deep appreciation for simplicity and began to yearn for the peacefulness of the garden and olive grove. Gardening was my therapy. When the sadness overwhelmed me, it was here, among the trees and vegetables that I felt grounded. In tending to the plants I was tending to my grief. Colours began to filter back into my life. The incalculable sorrow stayed but I could now look up at the sky and smile when the bee-eaters flew by. Spring’s flowering with its bold statement of life and renewal ceased to hurt me as it had done in the first two years and instead I sensed a deep gratefulness that nature had held me close and helped nurture my healing.

For me, though I once lost the capacity to see the point to life, gardening became a life-saver. In seeing plants grow I discerned hope within my heart. The miracle of watching seedlings push through the soil helped me to understand that I too could change from a closed, deeply hurting mother into something unforeseen and different. It didn’t matter if my tears mixed with the soil as I dug, I kept digging. My response to being outdoors was initially indiscernible and yet, as time passed, whether it was physical work or lying with eyes half-closed under the trees, I began to sense a connection to the Earth I’d never felt before.

The therapeutic benefits were not felt by me alone. My surviving children gained much from being in nature and gardening following their brother’s homicide. Nature’s restorative power seeped into our hearts and gave us permission to smile again. As a family, we were able to grieve together whilst doing something as beautiful and therapeutic as planting and growing food.

I believe Alex would be proud of what we have achieved. He was right about the farm being a new life for me. It is.

Published in Still Standing Magazine 17th February 2018

A Four-Part Article on Homicide Loss — Part 1 The challenges faced by homicide loss families

March 11, 2018 By Katja Faber

I am a co-victim of homicide, a murder survivor. Some refer to me as the mother of the boy who was killed. At times, it feels as if I don’t even have a name, such is the stigma surrounding homicide. Whatever the term, the fact is that my wonderful, funny, bright, handsome 23-year-old son was murdered by someone he knew and trusted.

Credit: Josh Willink

It’s exactly three years today since Alex was killed between the hours of 5 am and 6:45 am. We will never know exactly when he died and I suppose it doesn’t much matter because it’s the manner of his death and the fact that he is gone that hurts beyond anything I’ve ever known or could have imagined. In this time, I’ve also learned that it’s a very lonely and frightening place to be because the chasm between where I am in my grief journey and where the majority of people stand is too wide to bridge. Friends and kind strangers simply fail to comprehend the extent of the devastation left behind after a child is murdered.

The myriad of legal, financial, physical and psychological problems homicide parents face for years afterward make this a very misunderstood form of grief.

It’s not surprising that people can’t conceive of what I and others like me have gone through following the killing of our child or loved one at the hands of another. Why should they be able to? Let’s face it, nothing prepares any of us for this sudden harrowing loss, this obscene affront to decency, this wanton act of cruelty.

I had no skill set to help me when my son was killed, any more than my friends had experience of how to support me.

Most people are frightened by the violence of homicide and are utterly lost as to how to deal with the emotional trauma the victim’s family endures. It’s therefore understandable that only those who find themselves in the same devastating situation can relate to the horrors of my experience and I to theirs.

So, I have decided to do something about it, in a small way, in the only way I know how. To put pen to paper, to type out my thoughts, to open a small window to our world.

In this four-part article, I attempt to convey the reality of homicide-loss and the problems and vulnerability experienced by the families of victims.

Firstly, in Breaking the Silence (below) I seek to explain the emotional upheaval of homicide loss. The second article, Murder as Entertainment and the Psychology of Fear, looks at why society seems to struggle in helping co-victims and the effect this has on the families affected by the loss. In the third piece Crisis, Trauma and the Justice System I cover the main difficulties faced by survivors during the legal process and the financial burden faced by families, and how best to meet their needs. In the final article, Emotional Support in the Initial Stages and Beyond I address the unique psychological challenges faced by survivors of homicide.

Read together, the four articles give an overview of the impact of losing a child or loved one to homicide and the argument for inclusive informed support. My hope is that in allowing for greater understanding our communities will be kinder and more compassionate places for us all.

Breaking the Silence – the homicide co-victim

So, let’s look at some basic facts.

Data on exact numbers in each country vary from year to year, so for ease of statistical understanding I have taken the USA, and England and Wales as examples of western countries.

On average, each year, there are 15,000 homicides in the USA, which includes both criminal homicide (intentional killing or manslaughter) and vehicular homicide (e.g., homicide through drunk driving). In the England and Wales, it’s about 900 per year. These numbers represent the children and adults who lost their lives at the hands of another. In most cases, the victim was killed by someone they knew.

Each homicide leaves behind, on average, 5 to 10 close relatives, who are categorized as ‘survivors of homicide’, ‘co-survivors’ or ‘co-victims’. These numbers do not include extended family, friends, neighbours, or co-workers.

Stop to think about that.

Just the numbers are mind-boggling.

Chances are that in your lifetime you will meet or know of someone whose child or relative was a victim of a homicide.

And if this happens, will you approach them? Will you know how to support them? Years after the event, will you comprehend the enormity of their trauma and reach out to them? Certainly, in my case, I would have answered ‘no’ to all these questions — that is until I learned the hard way.

Co-victims’ life post-loss is harsh. Even after controlling for demographic and gender variables, the statistics point to a significantly higher risk of PTSD and depression as well as a deterioration in physical health. Additionally, alcohol and drug dependence can become a problem. Financial difficulties following the loss of income or legal costs are commonplace. Co-victims are often diagnosed with mental health issues following the homicide. Suicidal thoughts are not uncommon.

The reality is that survivors of homicide are victims of violence, in the same way as other victims of crime are victims of violence. The term ‘survivor’ I find unsettling because it somehow insinuates that we have survived and are doing ok. Nothing could be further from the truth.

We are not ok. We are hanging on by the skin of our teeth. We are just about coping with every day if that. The psychological trauma lasts a lifetime and so does the grief.

And there’s the crunch.

We not only mourn our children but simultaneously are also forced to deal with the violence of the killing and the suffering inflicted upon them at the time of their death. And then there’s the legal aftermath that can last for years.

Is it, therefore, any surprise that co-victims commonly describe themselves as ‘going crazy’? Feelings of helplessness, rage, injustice, and devastation throw their world into such turmoil that they can barely function. Psychologists use terms such as ‘complex’ and ‘traumatic’ to describe this type of grief.

So please help me to break the silence. I invite you to read the blog posts that follow in order to better understand what co-victims go through in the aftermath of homicide.

Published in Still Standing Magazine 30th December 2017

Part II Homicide Series — Murder As Entertainment And The Psychology of Fear

March 11, 2018 By Katja Faber

In this the second article in the series on homicide loss I look at the challenges faced by co-victims in dealing with society’s response to their loss.

Our society is fascinated by crime. Murder sells, violence sells, drama sells. Photos and films repeatedly glamourize the action and thrill of police and detective stories, as well as the lives of the criminals themselves. Documentaries and news reports depict real live crime scenes and carnage before moving onto the next violent incident.

So long as the violence is kept at arm’s length, it certainly seems that society enjoys a staple diet of blood and guts where the perpetrator of the crime is the repulsive yet devious, fascinating villain. The more violent or heinous the crime, the more the accused will become a cult figure, fed by society’s morbid curiosity and its need for controlled excitement and fear.

Yet what about the victim and those directly affected by a homicide? Aren’t they, in fact, the real heroes and heroines?

To my mind, if the quiet courage needed to keep living after your child is murdered were publicly understood and acknowledged, governments would have no option but to honour co-victims with a Medal for Valour.

Yet the difficult and complex stories of survivors following a crime rarely, if ever, make it into the news. Entertainment is one thing but the destruction of innocent families’ lives through murder quite another. Co-survivors are the invisible victims. We have suffered the loss of a loved one in the most brutal and violent way imaginable yet for the most part, we as individuals are shunned by society because homicide stigmatizes.

Co-victims of murder and homicide often feel abandoned by the indifference of the police, the justice system and the community they live in. Victims’ Rights Acts are a relatively new development — for example, victim impact statements are now accepted as part of the sentencing process and in some cases, co-survivors can apply to know about parole hearings — but these changes feel like having absolutely no rights at all. We are far, far away from having justice systems that are inclusive of the victim’s family and allow them to have legal representation during court proceedings.

I would suggest that we, as a society, need to reframe violence and homicide and turn our approach on its head. I admit that’s no mean task. It’s not the murderer, the carnage, the violence that needs to be plastered across our screens, but instead the dignity, sorrow, connection and love displayed by the co-survivors as they mourn their loved one and try to rebuild their lives. Instead of repeatedly hearing about a murderer, could we not remember the victim and honour their life? Is that not the community we wish to live in, a place that respects victims of crime and homicide and openly acknowledges the loss of the parents and family members?

I am certain that people can be encouraged to look behind a murder story instead of reducing it to a mere spectacle. They simply need to be shown how.

Yet this does not answer the question as to why individuals keep their distance when a homicide occurs. Why does the average person instinctively ignore the inner disquiet they feel when they hear of a homicide and turn away?

Fear. Pure and simple.

Co-survivors act as a stark reminder of each and every individual’s impotence in the face of evil, of violence, of innocence, smashed. We, the co-victims, complicate the narrative — we are the messy suffering left behind by homicide. And this is the part society does not want to see.

Basically, no one wants to think homicide could happen to them.

The thought that any of our children, our loved ones, could be the next victim of a shooting, a stabbing, a strangulation is too terrifying to process. So we don’t go there.

I get that. If we lived in a permanent state of fear, we would never let our children out of our sight. We instinctively remain in denial about the risk and reality of murder. Somewhere deep inside of us, we believe that homicide is something that happens to other people. So friends and strangers turn away and pull up their inner defences. Avoidance and detachment resulting in even more loneliness and hardship for the co-victims.

And tragically, this ‘other people’ attitude can go even as far as victim blaming. In blaming the dead (at least in part) for getting killed, strangers manage to maintain the illusion that murder could not happen to them. To this day I am disturbed and saddened at the finger pointing and rumours spread by those who seek to reassure themselves in this way. Even after a guilty verdict, people may still shake their heads and gossip, suggesting that ‘it’s not the whole story’ as if by magic they know something the Court does not. I’ve been there, I know.

Not only that, but co-victims themselves can become the target of abuse and internet trolling. The parents of children murdered in the USA at Sandy Hook school who have suffered abuse and death threats may be an extreme example of this, but they are sadly not the exception — there are many cases of co-victims being singled out for criticism and being verbally attacked or threatened. I myself have received nasty mail with no return address or legible signature. My crime? That the man who killed my 23-year-old son was found guilty of intentional homicide last August.

Part III and Part IV in this series focus on the difficulties faced by co-victims like myself. Crisis, trauma and the justice system and Emotional support in the initial stages and beyond aim to shine a torch on what parents and families of victims go through and how best to support them. Perhaps the insight gained will give readers the confidence to help a co-victim who is facing the most traumatic and devastating experience of their life. And believe me, reaching out to them and showing them that they are not alone will truly be the greatest gift of all.

Published in Still Standing Magazine 6th January 2018

Part III Homicide Loss Series — Crisis, Trauma and the Justice System

March 11, 2018 By Katja Faber

This, the third article of the four-part series on homicide loss explores in more detail the difficulties faced by co-victims and how those in their community can help them. The first area of focus — support during the legal process — deals with the justice system and how it affects homicide survivors. In the second part, I outline the financial burden that comes with homicide which co-victim families must face.

Credit: Gus Moretta

I speak from experience when I say that those who offer help should never underestimate how appreciated their act of kindness will be. Those friends and family that stood by my side were angels in jeans, rain-jackets, and trainers. They were both young and old, close friends and family, and some were strangers. Sadly, a few people whom I thought were friends fell away, but in their place came new souls who showed me — through their open-hearted kindness — that sweet friendships were possible at a time of utter desolation and despair.

As I learned to walk this new path, so did those who chose to be at my side. I guess we learned together.

So the least I can do is pass on what I know and what other co-victim parents have shared with me. Because someone, somewhere, may really need your help one day. Perhaps they need it now.

Support During the Legal Process

We all need to feel safe. We need to believe that crimes are solved, to believe in the justice system, to trust that the police and prosecutors are doing their job. We want to believe that life is like the movies, that terrible crimes end with justice prevailing. Anything that counters that, which puts into question the age-old principle that right triumphs over wrong, shocks us and so we don’t want to know.

Crime, justice, punishment.

Yet that’s just not how it is for most of us co-victims. As Judith Herman, M.D. states in Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror:

“If one set out by design to devise a system for provoking intrusive post-traumatic symptoms, one could not do better than a court of law.”

The majority of families of murdered children express deep disillusionment, distress, and frustration with police investigations and the judicial process. Countless families end up paying for detectives and lawyers in hope of getting justice for their children at a time when they can ill-afford additional expenses. Others write letters, petition politicians, talk to the press, mount truth campaigns, and mobilize social media so as to oblige the authorities to act. These families demonstrate super-human strength with only faith, rage, and love to keep them going.

For many, the murder of their child or loved one will be the first time they are faced with police questioning and the criminal justice system. The law and legal procedures are bewildering at the best of times. If you are in shock and dealing with extreme grief, it can be utterly incomprehensible. For the vast majority, it’ll be the first time they’ve ever stepped into a criminal court. In some jurisdictions, they won’t even be allowed to do that — they’ll be excluded from the hearings or trial in case they ‘influence’ proceedings or the jury.

Sometimes the victim was killed in another state or country. This complicates matters even further. Trust me, I used to be a criminal defense attorney. Yet in the first year following my son’s homicide, I couldn’t understand what my own lawyer said. She could have been speaking in Chinese. I was simply unable to absorb or comprehend what was happening. Even two and a half years later, during the trial, I was still suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and could only understand in part what was going on. How a parent without legal training is expected to follow what’s happening in their case after their child has been murdered is beyond me.

So What Can You Do?

First off, if you have any information that could help solve the crime, come forward. Do not over think this. Someone’s child or loved one has been killed, and the murderer will get away with it unless he or she is arrested, tried and found guilty. Find the courage to speak up and stand for what is right.

If you cannot help with evidence, then offer to help by driving them to the police interviews, with attending the various court hearings (if the jurisdiction where the homicide took place allows for this), with finding a lawyer or forensic expert, or with the mountain of paperwork that will be piling up on their desk. Help with anything practical that can lift the burden off their shoulders.

In the early days of the investigation, it may be that you accompany a co-victim to meetings at the police station or Court house. Later on, you might help them mount a social media campaign. Later still, you can sit with them throughout the trial if that is allowed. And even later still, you can show up during the appeal process or if you cannot attend, let them know they are in your thoughts.

It’s not uncommon for homicide survivors to have to put their emotional grief-work on hold during the investigation, trial and appeal process. It can take years for a case to work through the criminal justice system. Throughout this time, co-victims will have to repeatedly relive their story.

This prolonged suffering can have a deep and long-lasting detrimental effect on the psychological welfare of the co-victim because they’re obliged to push aside their extreme pain. This can result in life-long mental health issues.

Even when a murderer is convicted, co-victims may experience anger at the leniency of the sentence, or disbelief at public sympathy for the killer, or all manner of other debilitating emotions relating to the legal outcome. And often, there is not even an arrest, let alone a conviction. Homicide survivors are left struggling with the injustice and apathy of a system that seemingly doesn’t care.

So please, be patient. Give co-victims the time and space to express their confusion regarding the judicial process. Help where you can, and let them know that you have not forgotten them. Get together with other friends and neighbours. Take it in turns to accompany them to court hearings or meetings with the police or lawyers. Knowing they are not alone and that their community cares can make all the difference in their ability to cope.

The Financial Burden That Comes with Homicide

Death comes with costs. No matter how you die, there will be bills to pay. These usually include, but are not limited to, funeral and burial costs, buying a plot in the cemetery, administration costs and any outstanding medical costs in the run-up to your death.

But homicide brings with it costs that most people don’t realize exist or that they assume will be covered by an insurance company, a local authority or the state. These very costs can be a huge burden for co-survivors, adding to their trauma and general stress.

Let’s start with the obvious. If your child or loved one is a victim of a homicide, you cannot simply have their body removed to the funeral home and have it cremated or buried. The body is not yours to do with as you wish — it is now the ‘property’ of the state. The police will not allow you to go anywhere near your child or loved one unless it’s to identify the body. You have no say in what happens until the body is ‘released’ for burial. This in itself is very distressing for families.

By this time, depending on where your child was murdered, you may have been charged for the removal of the body from the crime scene and other autopsy or forensic costs. When my son was killed, I was sent several bills, including a request for payment for the plastic sheeting used to remove his body from the house where he was bludgeoned to death. This is shocking, traumatizing and utterly outside of anyone’s possible expectations regarding what you’ll be expected to pay.

Some parents may feel they have no option but to get a second autopsy and toxicology report if they are unhappy about the police investigation and what they perceive to be questionable results. For example, if the police are refusing to investigate because they believe your child committed suicide, and you’re certain it’s murder, you’d want to know. Again, this costs money.

Some families face an added challenge: a child killed abroad or in another state will need to be repatriated or transported home. Most often, this expense is not covered by insurance (if you have any) or the consular office, and it can run into the thousands.

Then there are the eye-watering bills that no one foresees.

Court hearings happen often and frequently. Many families cannot afford to travel to these hearings if they occur in another state or country. Imagine not being able to be present at your own child’s homicide hearings or trial because you don’t have the money to get there. I know of cases where there have been over 50 pre-trial applications before the case even got to trial. Or imagine the distress caused if, following conviction, you were asked to read out your impact statement to the court prior to sentencing, yet couldn’t afford to travel and stay in a hotel.

Legal Costs

Then come the legal costs. Who prepares for this? No one.

As days turn into weeks, months and years following the homicide, many parents will come to the stark realization that they’re going to have to fight for justice for their child. But that doesn’t come cheap. In a demonstration of undying parental love, many will re-mortgage their homes. Some will use up savings. Others will organize charity events to raise funds. The final legal bill can run into tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, depending on how long the legal process takes. No wonder many co-victims fall into debt.

And as if all these costs weren’t enough, co-victims often face hidden costs that society knows nothing about. As a result of the psychological trauma, and the number of court and parole hearings, many co-victims will miss work days. This can result in them losing their jobs or having to reduce to part-time work only. Invariably, this leads to financial difficulties, missed mortgage payments and so on.

Lastly, co-victims not only suffer from mental health issues following the murder but often get physically ill. Unless you live in a country where there is universal healthcare, or you have comprehensive insurance, medical costs will not be covered. Therapy for survivors of homicide, which can include several members of the family and last years, plus any other medical expenses, can run into thousands.

The financial stress compounded with psychological trauma makes this type of child loss grief extremely difficult to navigate.

You may be wondering — where do I come in?

Be brave. Don’t shy away from asking about the financial aspect of the trial or travelling costs to hearings and how to plan for them. This is a difficult conversation but an important one because the financial management of homicide loss is hard. If the co-victim is overwhelmed and struggling, support them by making an appointment with the bank or a financial advisor if necessary. If they feel comfortable with you being present, go with them to the meetings and help with re-scheduling credit card payments or loans or whatever needs to be done to help with costs management. Organizing their assets or raising loans in advance of actual costs incurred can help enormously in reducing their stress levels as bills come in and have to be paid.

Just because someone was financially savvy in the past doesn’t mean they will be able to deal with the financial burden of homicide once they become a co-victim.

Secondly, be pro-active in raising money. Help set up a charity in the name of the victim, or organize charity events within the community to cover costs incurred by the survivors. Some families set up ‘Go Fund Me’ pages. Why not offer to run the social media side, to check emails, to make calls? Even at the best of times, these activities would be daunting to do by oneself. Imagine how much harder it is when you can barely function?

On a more neighborly basis, perhaps occasionally do their grocery shopping, or offer to drive them to hearings so they don’t have transport costs. Little gestures can add up to so much. Perhaps you have a spare room in your home where co-victims’ friends and family can stay when they come to visit or attend hearings? Maybe you can surprise them with take-out or invite them out for a nice meal?

Many survivors of homicide struggle to cover costs. Any gesture – however small – that reduces their financial burden can really help. Not only financially but also emotionally because they won’t feel so alone.

We are a long, long way away from co-victims having the right to a lawyer who is paid for by the state in the same way the accused (and once convicted, the killer) gets free legal representation. That the criminal justice system (understandably) offers the accused a state-paid lawyer throughout the proceedings, yet there is no financial help at all for the co-victims is beyond my comprehension. But to date, that’s how it is. In that sense, there is still much to achieve where co-victims rights are concerned. And consequently, the fact that the criminal justice system is as likely to compound a co-victims anguish as alleviate the grief should not come as a surprise.

Published in Still Standing Magazine 13th January 2018

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