Iraq

Mission: Bearers of the unthinkable

You never know what to expect when informing the next-of-kin of a loved one's death, except that it hurts.

By JEAN HELLER, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published April 5, 2003

It would have been a beautiful day for a drive in the country but for the nightmare that waited at the end of the road.

Marilyn Howe spent much of the 90-minute trip in silence, one thought spooling through her mind like a closed loop of tape: This is to be my fate; I am an angel of death.

In another car on the same road making the same trip, Carol St. Denis watched the sun-washed rural scenery roll by under a bright blue winter sky. She was quiet, nervous. The two people in the car with her were quiet. She had two thoughts: How perfect the day and how horrible her mission.

"I thought this was probably the most difficult thing I would ever have to do in my life," St. Denis recalled.

The two women, both Air Force lieutenant colonels stationed at Eglin Air Force Base in Fort Walton Beach, were on their way to notify the families of a dead serviceman that he and his wife had been killed in an automobile accident in Germany.

Their missions, unfolding in grim repetition across the country now as service personnel fall in Afghanistan and Iraq, thrust Howe and St. Denis into the headwaters of grief as bearers of the worst news a parent, a spouse, a brother or sister can hear.

Neither has yet made war-related notifications because forces from Eglin have yet to take casualties. But if the day comes, Howe and St. Denis are among just 12 officers at the sprawling base -- which has more than 10,000 active duty personnel -- to whom the task will fall.

Howe keeps a dress uniform in her office, so she will be ready.

Officials from all military branches declined requests to interview officers who have notified family of casualties in the current war, saying the situation is too fresh and painful.

But Howe and St. Denis were willing to talk about last year's accident case, even though the news was all the more excruciating because the deaths were not war-related, so the families had no expectation or anticipation of tragedy.

When the two Air Force officers arrived at the small town, which they won't identify to protect the privacy of the families, they pulled into a gas station to make final plans. Each was accompanied by a medical specialist and a chaplain.

Howe and her team would notify the serviceman's mother and father, who lived in the same town though they were divorced. St. Denis would take the mother-in-law.

The first to complete the assignment would call the other to be certain that no family member, needing to share the grief, alerted other family members to the tragedy before formal notification was made.

"It's not something you want someone to hear over the phone," St. Denis said.

Howe's proved to be the more difficult task. The mother wasn't home when she arrived.

"We saw the neighbors peeking out their windows at three people standing outside an official car wearing dress blues, and we knew they knew something was wrong," Howe said.

She and her team then went to the address they had for the father, only to find that the building had been converted into an office. They wound up at the police station where a detective who knew the father led them to his house.

"The man worked a night shift, and we woke him out of a sound sleep," Howe said. "He didn't want us to come in, so we all sat on the front porch and told him. At first he was groggy, and I'm certain he thought we were a bad dream. Then he became distraught. He kept saying he had to get to his ex-wife, he had to get to her, so we all drove over there. A convoy."

She still wasn't home, so they sat at the curb and waited.

"She turned the corner, and she could see him standing out in the street, crying, and then she saw us, and I think she knew," Howe said.

Meanwhile, St. Denis had found the mother-in-law.

"She was very nervous about having military personnel in her home," St. Denis said. "She kept saying she wanted to clean up. I said no. I said we needed to sit down and talk."

Margaret Miles, a professor at the University of North Carolina School of Nursing and a specialist in grief counseling, said the most important thing a notification officer can do is listen.

"People are very different in how they respond to news like that," Miles said. "Some might try to do something to avoid hearing it. Some might let it all hang out in anger or despair. Some can absorb it and some can't right away. The important thing is to let them express their feelings and listen. You've got to listen."

The notification process has changed markedly over the years. Many next-of-kin during World War II learned of the deaths of family members in telegrams stuffed under their doors. By the time of the Vietnam War, the process had evolved into something more humane, personal notification by a military officer and a member of the clergy.

Today, every military base uses its own procedures, honed after 30 years of experience, but all involve personal attention to the families that continues well beyond initial notification, including the return of remains, funerals, burials, distributions of benefits and entitlements and, if necessary, counseling.

"One of the most difficult things for the people doing the notifications is dealing with the wide variety of responses," Miles said. "A lot of people get very, very angry and even lash out at the notification personnel. They have to understand that it's not personal. They can't back off."

Both Howe and St. Denis stayed as long as they felt needed. Howe prayed with the parents. St. Denis fielded question after question from the mother-in-law, answering as many as she could, passing on the rest to other military personnel who would follow up with the family.

"Afterward, I felt drained, just terribly drained," St. Denis said. "You feel like you want to do more. You want to leave somebody on a good note, but you can't."

Howe said she that while the experience didn't cause her any lasting stress, she thinks about it often.

"You treat the people with understanding and dignity," Howe said. "I did it for them as I would hope and expect it to be done for my husband."