Society doesn’t speak much about the reality of life after the funeral brought on my murder. So how are those of us saddled with the loss know how we can begin to heal? This is that inevitable point in time when reporters have left, the court dates have stalled, and when friends and neighbors have stopped contacting us. (And this dismal time is also overlooked by researchers, filmmakers, journalists, grief specialists and the training of mental health personnel.)
When we are in that stomach-churning lull, we’re not just cracked. Or bruised. We are shattered.
We resist the truth that there is no going back to “before” even though this fable is perpetuated by others around us. There’s no going back because the rupture was too violent, too sudden and too public. Not to mention permanent. We’re left with pieces of our former life and somehow expected to build a meaningful future from it. Is that even possible?
Some days we wish we could simply glue ourselves back together and pretend that nothing happened. But that’s not healing. That’s hiding.
Enter Kintsugi
In Japan there is an ancient tradition called Kintsugi or “golden joinery.” When a cherished ceramic bowl or special teacup breakes into pieces, it’s not tossed out, hidden or forgotten. Instead, artisans mend the fractures using a unique lacquer mixed with powered gold. They never intend to conceal the breakage. They highlight it. The result? The treasured piece wears it’s trauma, not as shame, not as a demand for pity, but as art. The pottery tells its history of breakage and survival.
It’s often more commendable and durable than before it broke.
That’s us.
Each of us who survives a homicide walks with painful scars others cannot see (nor do they wish to). But they’re there; cracks formed by grief, rage, fear and the sheer unfairness of it all. Cracks that run through birthdays and holidays, through empty chairs, sleepless nights and dreaded anniversary reactions. Cracks deepend by the justice system, turning away of friends, misrepresentation in movies and by personal dreams dashed by violence.
But over time, and often with the support of other homicide survivors, we begin to fill in those cracks. They’re soothed with meaning, with new bonds, with activism and sheer determination. They are filled with a refusal to forget. With memories that shimmer when we speak of our lost loved one by name.
The mending, like many ancient adhesives, is not quick. Nor is it straightforward. But it is possible.
Sometimes the gold resin looks like forgiveness
Other times it looks like justice.
Often it’s merely surviving another day without crumbling.
To the outside world, we may look like ordinary people with ordinary lives.
But we know better. We are walking mosaics – pieces joined together with intent, persistence and a quiet kind of brilliance that only trauma survivors know.
We didn’t ask to become this. But here we are.
And if today you feel like you’re still just a pile of broken pieces – please know this. You are not alone. You are not beyond repair. Give yourself time. Give yourself grace. One day, when you least expect it, the gold will start to shine through.
Not becasue the pain is gone.
Not because you minimized your despair.
But because you stayed and endured and grew around the loss.
And that is – in itself – an art.
