Missing loved ones leave those left behind with 'ambiguous loss' — a form of frozen grief

That leaves Rachel, 45, in a limbo of sorrow and frustration, awakening "every morning to a reality I don't want to exist in."

She dwells there in a liminal state, she wrote by email July 11, with a stream of questions running through her head: "Is he trapped by debris in the river? Is he in a tangled mass of debris on the riverbank? Did he wander off into the forested area instead?"

And one that remains stubbornly unanswered: "Are they ever going to find him?"

"Obviously I want my husband returned alive," she wrote to The Associated Press, "though I am envious of those who have death certificates."

'Ambiguous loss'

Like the families of the missing after the July 4 Texas floods experienced for much of this month, Ganz suffers from what grief experts call ambiguous loss: the agony of living in the absence of a loved one whose fate is uncertain.

Humans across borders, cultures and time unfortunately know it well. Ambiguous loss can be intimate, like Ganz' experience, or global, as in the cases of the missing from the Sept. 11 attacks, tsunamis in the Indian Ocean and Japan, the Turkey-Syria earthquake, the Israel-Hamas war and the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

The distinguishing feature, according to Pauline Boss, the researcher who coined the term in the 1970s, is the absence of ritual — a wake, a funeral, throwing dirt on a grave — to help the families left behind accept the loss. The only way forward, experts say, is learning to live with the uncertainty — a concept not well-tolerated in Western cultures.

"We're in a state of mind, a state of the nation, right now where you either win or you lose, it's either black or its white," said Boss, a professor emeritus at the University of Minnesota who has researched ambiguous loss globally over a half century. "You have to let go of the binary to get past it, and some never do. They are frozen. They are stuck."

Sarah Wayland, a social work professor from Central Queensland University in Sydney, says ambiguous loss is different from mourning because it's about "repetitive trauma exposure," from the 24-hour news cycle and social media. Then there is a devastating quiet that descends on the people left behind when interest has moved on to something else.

"They might be living in this space of dreading but also hoping at the same time," Wayland said. "And they are experiencing this loss both publicly and privately."

Uncertainty

Heavy rains drove a wall of water through Texas Hill Country in the middle of the night July 4, killing at least 132 people and leaving almost 200 missing at one point. Two remained missing as of Wednesday. Over just two hours, the Guadalupe River at Comfort, Texas, rose from hip-height to three stories tall, sending water weighing as much as the Empire State building downstream about every minute it remained at its crest.

Those without bodies to bury are frozen in a specific state of numbness and horror — and uncertainty. "It's beyond human imagination to believe that a loved one is dead," Boss says.

This feeling can come in any global circumstance. Lidiia Rudenko, 39, represents a group of families in Ukraine whose relatives are missing in action. Her husband, Sergey, 41, has been missing since June 24, 2024, when his marine brigade battled the Russian army near Krynky. He's one of tens of thousands of Ukrainians missing since the Russian invasion in 2022. 

"Some people fall into grief and can no longer do anything, neither act nor think, while others start to act as quickly as possible and take the situation into their own hands, as I did," Rudenko said.

"There are days when you can't get out of bed," she said. "Sometimes we call it "getting sick. And we allow ourselves to get sick a little, cry it out, live through it, and fight again."

For almost a decade, Leah Goldin was part of a very small number of people in Israel with the dubious distinction of being the family of of a hostage.

Her son, Hadar Goldin, 23, a second lieutenant in the Israeli army, was killed, then his body taken on August 1, 2014. A blood-soaked shirt, prayer fringes and other evidence found in the tunnel where Goldin's body was held led the Israeli army to determine he was killed, she said. His body has never been returned.

Her family's journey didn't dovetail with the regular oscillations of grief. They held what Leah Goldin now calls a "pseudo-funeral" including Goldin's shirt and fringes, at the urging of Israel's military rabbis. But the lingering uncertainty was like a "knife constantly making new cuts."

In the dizzying days after Hamas' attack on southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, the Goldin family threw themselves into attempting to help hundreds of families of the 251 people Hamas dragged into Gaza. But for a time, the Goldins found themselves shunned as advocacy for the Oct. 7 hostages surged.

"We were a symbol of failure," Leah Goldin said. "People said, 'We aren't like you. Our kids will come back soon.'" She understood their fear, but Goldin, who spent a decade pushing for Hamas to release her son's body, was devastated by the implication. In time, the hostage families brought her more into the fold, learning from her experience.

Hamas still holds 50 Israeli hostages, fewer than half of whom are believed to be alive.

In Gaza, Israel's offensive has killed nearly 59,000 Palestinians, more than half of them women and children, according to Gaza's Health Ministry, which doesn't say how many militants have been killed but says over half of the dead have been women and children. Thousands of the dead are believed to be buried under rubble throughout the enclave.