For those who get the news, it’s a moment of profound tragedy, one that will change their lives forever. And for those charged with delivering the message, it is usually “the worst duty they have ever been assigned.”

Notifying the next of kin of a military death.

By Pam DeFiglio

It’s the reason that armed services families panic the moment they see military officers coming up the walkway to their home. But those moments—which have been delivered in one form or another as long as men and women have marched off to war—have prompted all service branches to begin looking to psychology as a means of helping all participants involved: the survivors, the officers who make the notification, and the casualty assistance officers, who spend months—even years—providing assistance and emotional support to the family.

Psychology factors into the military’s decision to make notifications via a personal visit, and it influences the way military personnel interact with the survivors. During World War II, much-dreaded telegrams were used to announce deaths, but that was seen as cold and detached, said Army Col. Paul Bartone (Ret.), a research psychologist. The various branches of the military experimented with making the process more personal in the years since. Since at least the 1980s, military policy requires that an officer, accompanied by a chaplain if possible, make the notification. They put great emphasis on reaching survivors quickly, before the family can hear the news from someone else or see it on television.

“The personal face-to-face notification of a death is more respectful, and it conveys a higher level of respect and concern for the family,” said Bartone, is a senior research fellow at National Defense University in Washington, D.C. “From a psychology vantage point, the personal visit helps families cope with the devastating experience.”

Originally, the military sent one person to both deliver the news and then support the family and assist them with funeral arrangements, death benefits, and other matters.

“But for many people, there’s a negative association with the face of the person who brings that bad news,” said Bartone. “They’re having an acute stress reaction. They’re having all the nervous system arousal. There may be an actual imprinting process that occurs of the various images immediately surrounding that time frame—predominantly the face and image of the person bearing the bad news.”

Knowing this, the Army now uses a team of officers to make death notifications, employing a “bad cop-good cop” process designed to make it easier on family members who receive the news. The casualty notification officer, who is required to be of equal or higher rank than the deceased, plays “bad cop,” delivering the horrible news. Then he leaves and the casualty assistance officer steps in as “good cop” to comfort the family and gently hold their hands through the process of funeral arrangements, delivering personal belongings, completing paperwork, and applying for benefits.

The 2009 movie The Messenger shows actor Woody Harrelson’s character training actor Ben Foster’s character for the notification role in the Army. They deliver their devastating message respectfully, state the few details of the death that are known, offer condolences, say that a casualty assistance officer will be in touch soon, and depart. The casualty assistance officer usually makes contact within hours.

The personal face-to-face notification of a death is more respectful, and it conveys a higher level of respect and concern for the family.

The Marines bring the two roles closer together. Gunnery Sgt. Shawn Doty of the 2nd Battalion, 24th Marines serves as a casualty assistance call officer in the Chicago area, and goes to the survivors’ home as part of a four-person detail. The commanding officer makes the notification, then literally steps back and introduces the chaplain and casualty assistance officer.

“Then it’s our turn,” said Doty, who related that families have told him they can’t bear to see the casualty notification officer for some time afterward. And, since Doty is the one who will be supporting them for several months, he doesn’t want them to see his face during the notification.

“Sometimes you’re just standing there in silence—everyone’s in shock,” said Doty, who has been performing this duty for four years and has had to deflect threats from an angry father and sit for hours with a distraught mother because she had no one else. “We get all kinds of reactions—anger, total disbelief, yelling—things like, ‘it’s the Marine Corps’ fault, ‘What did you to my baby?’ Mothers always seem to know when something is wrong. They tell us afterward that they had an intuition, and when they see us, it just confirms it.” he said.

For the next of kin, the experience of hearing a loved one has died lies completely outside their frame of reference, says Dr. Todd DuBose, assistant professor in The Chicago School’s Clinical Psy.D. program. “Not only is it horrifying, the finality and irreversibility of this event has no prior framework with which to make sense of it. And making sense is our way of clawing at the walls as we fall into what feels like oblivion,” he said.

Although neither the notification officer nor the casualty assistance officer receives training or psychological preparation for the job—other than a military handbook that outlines the basic duty they must perform—messengers may request counseling after the fact. Doty speculates, however, that there isn’t really away to truly prepare for such difficult duty.

“You’re going to tell them the worst news of their life. Parents should never have to bury their children,” he says.

It’s sometimes easier for people with faith to cope with the news, he said. The military provides grief counseling to the surviving family members as part of the overall benefits package for survivors.

Eventually, Doty said, many parents find some comfort by joining the Gold Star Mothers association, because only those other parents know what it really feels like to lose a child.

Delivering the tragic news also takes a toll on notification officers.

“Death telling is very taxing on the messenger,” said DuBose. “The messenger embodies the abstraction-turned-reality, the un-thought horror … which becomes upon delivery the sinister visitation of …what is often experienced as personalized evil.”

With this heavy load upon them, notifiers benefit from support.

“I’ve had chaplains tell me one of their main roles is to provide support, and spiritual support, to the notifiers. Once the notification is complete and they’re back in the car, the chaplain shifts his attention to the notifier. That can lead to an ongoing relationship or a referral for counseling,” said Bartone.

Notifiers often feel a sense of guilt, and this can be intensified if the family members target them in angry or accusatory reactions, he said, adding that psychological support can help them understand they’re not responsible and they didn’t cause the intense pain.

“Many notifiers say it’s the worst duty they’ve ever had to do in their life,” said Doty, “but when they look back later, they say it’s the most honorable duty they’ve ever had to do.”

Casualty assistance officers deal with a different set of stressors as they help the survivors with the process of planning the funeral and applying for benefits as well as providing ongoing moral support. Family dynamics can change the nature of the services needed; some families have rifts between divorced parents, or between siblings. Sometimes the death provokes a disagreement between the deceased’s spouse and his parents. Trying to minister to all parties leaves the casualty assistance officer feeling torn and guilty about being powerless to help, Bartone said.

Doty said that in four years of casualty assistance duty, he has learned to compartmentalize the intense emotions. After he leaves a notification or an emotional encounter with a survivor, he’s able to switch off the feelings and go back to his day.

“At first it gets to you, and then you get numb to it. I guess you have to—how do funeral directors do it?” he asked. “I do feel for the family, and I feel bad about this, but I’ve learned to shut it off.”

Dr. Debra Warner, lead forensics faculty at The Chicago School’s Los Angeles Campus points out that while compartmentalization may work for some, everybody handles this kind of stress differently.

People charged with doing this type of emotionally taxing work have to find a way to turn it off, she says, or they would become so drained that they would become ineffective at their jobs. The tragic would become routine to them and they would become callous and lose their humanistic quality.
“You have to be able to leave it at work, or you won’t be able to have a full life,” she says.

In addition to techniques like compartmentalizing, both casualty assistance officers and notifiers can benefit from social support, which Bartone said has been shown to be a potent resource.

One surprising finding from Bartone’s research showed that notifiers who attended the funerals of the deceased showed fewer negative after-effects in terms of depression and anxiety symptoms.

“My interpretation was that those who attended the funerals had a psychological advantage of closure,” he said. “They were able to see the family members after the initial shock, and that facilitated a healthy processing for the notifiers.”

As for casualty assistance officers like Doty, Bartone found that they and the survivors often ended up supporting each other.

“The survivors showed gratitude back to the casualty assistance officer, so in many cases it was maybe not a growth experience, but in many cases it’s very positive. Sometimes they remain lifelong friends,” he said.

That has happened for Doty. He has a crystal-clear recollection of a February 2006 notification visit that was particularly emotional for him; after the notifier gave his report, Doty broke down when speaking to the Gilbert family of Downers Grove, Ill.

“There was just something about that one,” he said.

Since that time, he has become very close friends with the family, particularly the fallen Marine’s father. They recently traveled together to a wedding of one of the deceased’s buddies. Doty said many survivor families keep in touch with the Marines by coming to memorial ceremonies that occur from time to time, and that deceased Marine’s buddies call and e-mail families for years.

“A lot of families don’t want to let go of the Marine Corps. We’re a pretty tight band of brothers. So we keep in touch,” he said. “We’re there for each other.”