Reading through To Know Where He Lies by Sarah Wagner, I have been especially intrigued by the different experiences families go through after receiving the news from the DNA tests. Of course, I can't imagine the feeling of losing someone during a situation like Srebrenica--there are a variety of questions about their passing or missing status that go unanswered. From little things--wondering what their last meal was, what clothes they were wearing, etc.--to bigger things--how it happened, when it exactly happen, and so on. It's a haunting idea, and when there is so much uncertainty regarding such a heavy topic, it can be easy to imagine a situation much differently than what may be presented to you as the "truth."
When Wagner mentions that some women refuse to come to terms with the almost-certain death of their son or husband or brother or father through the DNA results, I remember a family story eerily similar to situations like these. My mother and her entire side of the family are from Iran--my Mom came to the U.S. to avoid the Iranian Revolution in 1979. The years leading up to the revolution, though, were politically unstable and resulted in numerous demonstrations. My Great Uncle was avid in politics, and attended many of these demonstrations. One demonstration was particularly violent, though, and he was killed among many other people. My Great Grandmother was horror-struck when he never returned home. A couple weeks later, a photo of the demonstration was in the newspaper--on the ground, dead, among others, was my Great Uncle. Despite photo evidence, though, my Great Grandmother never accepted her son's death. She stayed in the same house her entire life, even as the neighborhood's safety and community changed drastically. For her, it was crucial she remained in the same house in case he were to ever return.
Stories like these are difficult to comprehend at times--how could she not accept his death when she had photo evidence? How could someone not accept a DNA match? And so on. Death is so interwoven with emotions and sociality that it is much more than the "facts." It includes subjectivity and emotion, and "facts" don't include a narrative that encapsulate those who are lost and missing.
When Wagner mentions that some women refuse to come to terms with the almost-certain death of their son or husband or brother or father through the DNA results, I remember a family story eerily similar to situations like these. My mother and her entire side of the family are from Iran--my Mom came to the U.S. to avoid the Iranian Revolution in 1979. The years leading up to the revolution, though, were politically unstable and resulted in numerous demonstrations. My Great Uncle was avid in politics, and attended many of these demonstrations. One demonstration was particularly violent, though, and he was killed among many other people. My Great Grandmother was horror-struck when he never returned home. A couple weeks later, a photo of the demonstration was in the newspaper--on the ground, dead, among others, was my Great Uncle. Despite photo evidence, though, my Great Grandmother never accepted her son's death. She stayed in the same house her entire life, even as the neighborhood's safety and community changed drastically. For her, it was crucial she remained in the same house in case he were to ever return.
Stories like these are difficult to comprehend at times--how could she not accept his death when she had photo evidence? How could someone not accept a DNA match? And so on. Death is so interwoven with emotions and sociality that it is much more than the "facts." It includes subjectivity and emotion, and "facts" don't include a narrative that encapsulate those who are lost and missing.
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