At a recent gathering of homicide survivors, I spoke with someone who plans to move several states away. The person convicted of murdering her son is being released from prison soon, and returning to their old neighborhood. His parents live across the street. The survivor told me that this inmate has shown no remorse.
The murder happened years ago. The decision to move is happening now.
When we talk about homicide survivors, we often focus on grief. Of course we do. But grief is only one piece of a much larger puzzle. A murder can also affect where people live, whether they can keep working, where their children go to school, their health, finances, and how their relationships fare. Some of those changes happen quickly – even urgently. Others arise when a trial begins, a sentence ends, children mature, or circumstances change years later.
How often do these major life changes occur after a homicide? Are big life changes more common than we would expect compared to other kinds of death? Do the answers differ for surviving spouses, parents, children, and siblings? Like many dimensions of living with the aftermath of murder, we do not yet have a clear enough picture to answer those questions confidently.
That is a study worth doing—not simply to count moves, job changes, school changes, and separations, but to understand what lies behind them.
The decision to move. One family may leave because they fear threats from people connected to the person accused or convicted. Another may want to relocate, but cannot afford to do so. A third may choose to stay because neighbors, extended family, and a shared language or culture are sources of meaningful support. For a family that has farmed the same land for generations, leaving may mean giving up both a livelihood and a legacy. A specialized job or a public role rooted in the community may also make departure difficult. And when a murder has received national attention, a new address may offer little escape from public scrutiny.
Children’s circumstances matter, too. Moving a first grader and moving an eleventh grader may carry very different costs. Even within one family, people may have different reasons to stay or go.
A useful study would follow survivors over time and ask about these circumstances as well as the changes themselves. Did someone want to move? Were they able to? Did moving improve their safety or well-being? If they stayed, was that a welcome choice or the only viable one? What happened when the convicted person was released? What if the assailant was never apprehended?
The answers shed light on intervention. This information could assist victim-service programs when and why to check back with families, anticipate who may need practical help, and what kind of assistance would preserve a survivor’s choices. That might mean assistance with housing or employment. It might mean support that makes it possible to remain safely at home. It might mean returning years later, when a new event brings a new decision.
The goal is not to assume that every survivor’s life will unravel, or that staying put means all is well. It is to understand the pressures families face beyond grief—and to offer help that fits the life they are trying to live.
This is one of several practical questions about life after homicide that deserves more careful study. In coming posts, I’ll will be considering others—and, above all, what the answers could change for survivors.
