When someone learns I’m a homicide survivor, their posture, facial expression, breathing, and ability to speak immediately veer off course. They break eye contact. Stammer. Stiffen. And almost always flounder for a moment. They don’t know what to say. Who would? There’s no Hallmark card for this kind of loss (despite our nation’s obsession with true crime). And this reaction is – by no means – unique to me. Murder is rare and few people know what it’s like to survive the aftermath of violent death—not just the event itself, but the long, invisible path we have ahead of us which is seldom shown on the silver screen.
Even among close friends, it can feel awkward—sometimes even shameful—to voice the truths we privately carry. We worry we’ll sound ungrateful, dramatic, too angry, or damaged. So instead, we stay silent. We nod politely when someone says, “You’re so strong.” We smile when people tell us they “understand what we’re going through.” And then we go home, pace the floors and collapse in private.
Seven Unspoken Truths
But here’s what we wish more people understood. These are the unspoken truths—seven of them—that homicide survivors know all too well:
- Well-Meaning Food Often Goes to Waste
It comes fast and in bulk—lasagnas, deli platters, cookies, baked goods, fruit. People want to help, and food feels like something they can do. But in those first days, we’re in a fog. We forget to eat. Sometimes we can’t swallow. Our stomachs are knotted. The kitchen overflows with casseroles and desserts, and then the fridge fills with guilt. In truth, we give away what can’t be frozen. Meals or gift cards offered in the months that follow go much further than the drop-offs—when we’re lonely, tired, and no longer on anyone’s radar.
We even resent the additional job of keeping track of where containers belong. And, few of us look forward to the face-to-face this will necessitate. We don’t have the energy to entertain polite conversation.
What helps much more is offering to sit quietly with us while we eat. While we aren’t up for a “social” call, we welcome people who don’t demand conversation, explanations or smiles.
- “Call Me If You Need Anything” Sounds Like Latin
We hear this phrase so often that it grates on our nerves. It’s kindly meant. But grief scrambles our brains. We don’t know what we need! It places the burden on our shoulders and assumes we have the wits about us to delegate and organize tasks. We can barely remember our address. We don’t have the energy or will to keep things humming along as normal. Zero. Zip!
It’s much more helpful when someone notices what we need and then shows up and does something. Maybe they mow the lawn, run to the grocery store, offer to pick up the kids, or shovel our driveway. Grief support isn’t about saying “the right thing.” It’s about doing the right thing—quietly and consistently.
- We End Up Reassuring Others
Strange as it sounds, we often find ourselves comforting others—assuring them we’re okay (we’re not). We downplay our trauma to spare them awkwardness and discomfort. At funerals and court hearings, we become the calm ones, the composed ones, the “resilient” ones. Shock plays a role in this. But behind closed doors, we unravel.
But grief doesn’t need fixing. We need to give ourselves permission to be genuine, to blunder and unintentionally make someone uncomfortable for a moment. It’s not deliberate. It’s our truth. We are miserable! And maybe, just maybe, we can show others how to be genuine in their hour of need someday into the future.
- Grief Is Delayed, Distorted, and Disrupted
Grief after homicide isn’t linear. It’s jagged. It gets hijacked by funerals, legal procedures, media stories, autopsy reports, anniversary reactions and unanswered questions. We don’t get to grieve in peace. Sometimes, the tears come flooding months later while driving—long after everyone assumes we’ve magically found our footing again. We haven’t. We’re still catching up. Oddly, just about the time we are finally ready to connect, we look around and feel abandoned. It’s partly us. We’ve been telling everyone for months that “we’re okay” when we aren’t. We haven’t been responding to invitations. We’re just numb, bewildered and exhausted.
The one thing anyone can do is put a reminder in their phone to simply call and say, “It’s been six months today. I haven’t forgotten. I want you to know I’m thinking of you.” Or text “I remembered you on this difficult Father’s Day without your Dad. I wanted you to know.” Wherever they are, they will feel connection and validation. They may not respond, but be assured, remembering and reaching out long after the tragedy means a great deal.
- We Feel Isolated in a Room Full of People
Even when surrounded by support, we can feel completely alone. Trauma rewires the brain. The chatter of multiple voices is irritating. Casual conversation feels foreign, effortful and irrelevant. Old routines don’t fit. The world keeps spinning, but we’re forever altered. And it’s hard to explain to others why the smallest things now feel monumental—or why things we once loved feel hollow and draining. And it’s made worse if people in the room suddenly touch us. Please don’t. We’re still hypervigilant. Wait for us to hug you.
Most of us prefer quiet one-on-one times. A simple invitation of “Let’s walk along the beach. I’ll listen if you need to talk, or if you need a distraction, I can provide that, too. It’s even fine to walk in silence together. You call it.” Or, “So you know, if my porch light is on in the middle of the night, it means I’m awake. You’re welcome to come over. We can discuss what’s keeping us up, or share a game of cards or sit on the porch steps and say nothing. Your call. No pressure.”
6. What Not To Ask
You’d be surprised how often we get asked the same questions—over and over again.
“How did you find out?”
“Has anyone been arrested?”
“Do you trust the investigators?”
“Are relatives flying in?”
“Are you sleeping?”
It’s exhausting. And often, it’s unnecessary.
For one, repeating ourselves can be emotionally draining. And two, some of the people asking simply aren’t in the need-to-know circle.
At times, the questions even veer into the morbid. One guest on my podcast shared that an old high school acquaintance—someone she barely knew—called out of the blue to ask, “So, how many times was your brother shot?” Another survivor was approached by a neighbor who asked, “What kind of torture did your mom go through before she died? The news didn’t say.”
**Let that sink in….**
Here’s what I want people to understand: Use discretion. When in doubt, don’t ask. Let us take the lead. If we want you to know, we’ll tell you.
Sometimes we don’t even have the answers ourselves—especially if the homicide grows cold or ends in a plea deal and never goes to trial. And even when we do, we may choose not to share. That’s our right. We are not a reality t.v. show.
So when we are out in public and you recognize us from the news coverage, please ignore us. Do not point in our direction. Do not stop and offer condolences. We don’t want to be noticed. We just want to get our errand done and dash back home where we feel safe. At first, we just want to be invisible. Most of us wouldn’t venture out in public at all after the news breaks (or during the trial) if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. (That’s why we hope close friends will offer to do public errands for us.)
And, please do not speculate or gossip. We aren’t public figures!! We’re grieving. Be our ally. If others press you for details, simply say, “I don’t know. It’s none of my business.”
That’s the kind of quiet support we remember and appreciate. Advocates are our earth angels.
7. Friendships May Not Survive
We hear it all the time: “Time heals all wounds.” But it’s not true! Society seems to demand a Hollywood ending. The passing of time teaches us how to carry it differently. We grow around the grief—but we’re never the same. And yet, friends, coworkers, and neighbors often rush us—expecting us to “be normal” after a few months or after a court verdict. They don’t understand that the person we were before the homicide no longer exists. They’re not coming back! That’s what trauma does. We’re rebuilding a new foundation from the rubble—and that takes more than time. It takes patience, understanding, and space to just be. Violent death shuffles priorities, values, goals, and beliefs. As one of my podcast guests put it, “I’m like a five-year-old just learning about life all over again.”
So, sadly, we may no longer fit well with people once regarded as close friends. We’ve changed while they have not. They grow weary of our suffering and we lose the capacity and will to explain it. The friendship becomes collateral damage, too. It may help if they knew just how common this is. We forge a new path that separates us.
Final Thoughts
These are things rarely said aloud. We’re afraid of judgment, or we simply don’t have the energy to explain. But maybe by putting these truths into words, someone else will feel less alone. Or better yet, someone who’s supporting a survivor will pause—and listen more deeply.
To those who’ve walked this road too: I see you.
And to those who want to help: Start here.
