Every homicide and suicide survivor remembers the moment of impact – that instant they became a widow, widower, orphan, a nephew-less uncle, or a friend without their friend…
Their future imploded. Their breathing accelerated. Their eyes widened. Their ears tried to block the ugly details.
While many things can trigger a so-called anniversary reaction, it’s most commonly associated with the date of death. There’s just an uneasy familiarity about it. The weather is reminiscent of that moment. The calendar bluntly and callously announces the date as if it were an ordinary day sandwiched between others. We may hear a song that calls us back, or find ourselves at an unsettling intersection where ugly memories linger. Occasionally the anniversary reaction is tied to another significant date, such as a national holiday, a relative’s birthday, or a wedding anniversary.
Sometimes the media assists with anniversary reactions. They will run a story about the day the Hillside murderer was captured, the anniversary of the 2020 Nova Scotia killing spree, or the sixth anniversary of the Parkland HS Shooting. It has an unsettling effect.
Maybe that’s their goal.
Occasionally the homicide and suicide survivor doesn’t even recognize they’re having an anniversary reaction. What they do notice is an unnamed sense of irritability, distraction, uncomfortable restlessness and fatigue. Some may experience difficulty sleeping or even have nightmares. The connection is there but it’s below awareness.
A key point is that as uncomfortable as anniversary reactions can be, it’s our natural defense working.
Memories of trauma contain information about a genuine danger we experienced the first time around. It is not too different from our bodies remembering a certain virus so that we can respond quickly if it comes around again. Our memory works to keep us aware of….
….when we should be vigilant,
….how to feel in that situation,
….what to do,
….and what to think.
Trauma memory works to keep us safe. It’s our brain’s memory file of this awful day that’s kept on hand…” just in case.” And when that date rolls around again, the file is clicked. Our hackles go up. We feel alerted to some impending danger.
We’re supposed to! It’s adaptive.
You’ve probably had a version of this in another context…
You’re vacationing… maybe along the Mississippi – and it’s dinnertime. You’re feeling adventurous and point at the unlabeled, yellowish fish sizzling on the grill of a local vendor. The sounds and smells are intoxicating. You’re unsure what it is, but decide to try it anyway.
About an hour later, while lying back along the waterfront, you feel an uncomfortable, unfamiliar bubbling in the pit of your stomach. A headache emerges. Not bad at first. But it intensifies. Two hours later nausea pushes you to run for the bushes and by the time you reach the overgrowth, you feel imminent diarrhea threatening. What you’ve just experienced is food sickness from a bluegill contaminated with mercury and dioxins.
In time you recover.
Then, sixteen months later, out of the blue, you’re at a celebratory banquet with friends and relatives. A plate of salmon, shrimp, scallops and other fish rivets your attention. You back up and suddenly have no appetite at all. What happened is that your brain pulled out the memory file on the culinary mishap from sixteen months earlier. The sheer sight of seafood triggers a danger alarm recorded in your brain’s emergency center.
It’s adaptive. It’s our brain keeping us safe.
When that memory file is created, our brain will
perceive the threat
react to the threat
remember the threat
and patrol for a return of the threat
You might think of flashbacks as the memory file being pulled out and reviewed.
My spouse’s murder
I’m writing this on the eve of the 39th anniversary of my husband’s murder. Although it took place in Michigan, a place I felt compelled to leave, there are many reminders. Here, as there, it’s a humid July afternoon. There’s the faint sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower. The air is sultry. The asphalt under my feet is warm – too warm to walk barefoot. The sky stays light later this time of year. Flowers are in full bloom, along with the mosquitoes. Tonight, I will hear crickets and see a few brilliant stars.
It was around 11 pm that fateful July night when I grew concerned. My husband was hours overdue. He didn’t return that night, nor the next. Nor ever again…
There are always some peculiarities about murder. Mine is that I know he was killed around 7:15 pm on Saturday, July 13, 1985, on Casper Street in Detroit. However, his death certificate states he died on July 21st at an unknown location. That was the day his remains were unearthed miles away from where he took his last, gasping breath.
July was the month my husband went missing
July was the month I became a widow
July was the month the media opened my misery to the entire city (including a map to my house).
July was the month I was called to the morgue to identify what had been found of my husband.
July was the month of his funeral.
Ah, July…..
July was when the so-called death tourists started driving by my house slowly and stopping to point and take a photo
July was the month I was subpoenaed to the preliminary hearing
The entire month of July could be an anniversary reaction.
One additional way it hits me is homesickness. The relentlessness of the media forced me to relocate across state lines. In a very big way, it was another loss. I would’ve never left Detroit had the murder not happened.
A Time for Review
But, with time, anniversary reactions are also a time for survivors to look in their rearview mirror, to take stock of how their grief and their lives have changed.
We know grief responses don’t unfold smoothly in predictable stages. We also know time waits for no one.
We know grief reactions are unique to each person.
And we know they’re inevitable.
Looking back over the past 39 years, I see more change than sameness. I have moved several times. I adopted two sisters held within the foster care system and whose biological mother was murdered. I’ve remarried. I’m battling cancer and completed four triathlons. I’ve become a grandmother to a beautiful little grandchild who has undergone surgical removal of a brain tumor. I’ve since become active with the Innocence Project, written two books with another on the way, traveled internationally, and enjoyed meeting more survivors through my podcast than I ever thought possible. My guests are my rock, my saving grace… We speak the same language.
Many people associated with my spouse’s homicide are long gone now – the detective, police chief, my parents, my mother-in-law, some of the reporters, and even the primary perpetrator who died inside prison in his 5th year of a life sentence.
There is another dimension of the anniversary experience, which is seldom mentioned, and it is this. Over time it’s normal for people on the margins of the death to not remember the anniversary. I mean, how many of us recall the date of the Pulse Massacre? The Brampton Centennial School shooting, or Sandy Hook? Surviving family members undoubtedly do. And then there is Robin Williams, who perished a decade ago. His family will long remember August 11th. So, most of us experience anniversary reactions privately, without a lot of fanfare or support. And that is more so with each passing anniversary. It’s just another reason we can feel estranged from others.
What do do?
So…. What can we do when our brain pulls out that particular memory file and we re-experience the worst days of our life?
>We can anticipate it next year and prepare.
>We can get it out in the open by talking about it – especially with someone who experienced it with us
>Perhaps journal about it? Homicide survivor Kevin McCall did just that after his son was killed. Others urged him to publish it. With some trepidation, he agreed. It is painfully honest.
>We can be extra vigilant about self-care. This is the time for extra sleep, quality snacks, and maybe a much-needed massage.
>We can turn off additional stressors by canceling that fundraising event we promised to attend and turn off social media and the news.
Control the event by commemorating it. Perhaps visit the cemetery or donate to a related charity. Consider creating a soothing ritual associated with that date. Light a candle. Go for a walk. Take the day off work.
Remember that anniversary reactions are our brain’s natural mechanism for keeping us safe. They do not occur because we are weak or because we haven’t dealt with our grief!
Healing takes time, even a lifetime. Anniversaries will come… But they will also go.
We don’t get over our trauma.
We are forced to make space for it.
We carry it.
We learn to live with it
And sometimes we thrive in spite of it.
For information on the subjective experience of trauma click on this link: https://jancantyphd.com/is-it-just-me-am-i-going-nuts/
For information on emotional service animals and their role in recovery click on this link: https://jancantyphd.com/emotional-support-animals-and-homicide-survivors/
For more information listen to the September 11, 2024 podcast episode of Domino Effect of Murder
