Grieving Again
Khushmit Kaur, MD
Every shift, I see the impact of violence inflicted by human against human. Often, my colleagues and I are empathetically caring for the victim, dissociatively caring for the perpetrator, and occasionally for both in the same trauma bay. I think of my patients frequently in others like them, as well as in those I never knew. I remember them again today as I think about the nineteen children we will never see grow up.
A few weeks ago, I had a patient come in after being brutally assaulted with a kitchen knife by her partner. As I am about to treat and repair her wounds, I warn her that the anesthetic might sting. She responds, “I’m not scared of this. I’m scared of him.” Her fear prevailed over all other emotions in that moment, and was so clearly evident in her eyes. I find it most difficult to forget fearful eyes, and wonder what my eyes reflect back in those moments. Sometimes I sense them welling up in response to survivors or loved ones, yet hesitant to release, and other times they feel numb, as do I in those moments. Occasionally, I sense they convey anger at something beyond my bandwidth.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” — C.S. Lewis
Fear is a feeling perhaps most difficult to forget, and today, I know that those young children’s families — parents, grandparents, siblings, community — will never be able to shake this freshly instilled fear. Having borne close witness to families losing children, both in my personal life far before I became a physician, and again in my first two years as a medical professional, it is perhaps the greatest grief. While the circumstances I witnessed, including suicide, travel accidents, cancer and congenital disease, were not acts of interpersonal violence, I cannot fathom the degree of grief when your very child is lost to inhumane and preventable violence. We failed nineteen children, and many before that, whose short 7–10 years of life ended with fear.
To their families: I hope you are able to resort to what gives you strength in these moments, whether that be loved ones, faith, prayer, or memories.
To the rest of the country, we may be inclined to encourage a grieving period prior to civic engagement, yet somehow the grieving period is never truly complete here before another tragedy is to be mourned. I am not quite sure what defines the completion of grief; rather, it is more an adaptation and acceptance of loss, and I worry that we have become far too good at acceptance. To that, I say, may we let our eyes well up and release today, but also allow ourselves to feel the anger and fire necessary for actionable change, because before we know it, we’ll be grieving again.
