Grieving the death of a woman we never knew
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I can’t stop crying. I am grieving the violent death of a woman I have never met and will never know. Her happy, smiling face is familiar to me only because of the number of times I have seen it on news programs, in the papers and on social media. Since her disappearance nearly a week ago she has been almost constantly in my thoughts – in amongst everything that has kept me busy this week, bouncing around somewhere in my head has been the name Jill. I have left radios and news channels on in the background where they ordinarily wouldn’t be and have checked online updates and feeds more often than usual in the hope that I would hear or see that name, and that good news would follow.
People go missing everywhere, every day. I know this. Why my interest in this person? Would my concern be so great if she were older? Younger? More or less attractive? If she was from another town, state, or country? If she was single? A mother? Another nationality? A bloke? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. Many times this week I found myself thinking: That could easily have been me. Shit, that could so easily have been me.
I also found myself thinking that it could have been one of my sisters or friends. I have despaired even more thinking that my daughter, who has just turned three, will grow up to be a woman who will no doubt someday totter home from Friday night drinks believing she is safe. She will have no way of knowing what, if any, danger is nearby. Just as Jill had no way of knowing.
This chills me. I want to stop despairing and feeling afraid but at the moment I don’t know how. The victim-blaming I have read and heard this week (some of it outright and vicious and some of it patronisingly implied) disgusts me yet I’m also bewildered by those who have asserted that no woman should have to change her behaviour in the wake of Jill’s story. How can we not fear for our safety in the face of such darkness? Such ugliness?
There are people among us who wait for the right time, place and circumstances in which to harm. That is their intent and that is why I fear. I have wondered many times “Who failed her?” but I don’t know if anyone – excepting the person who attacked Jill – failed her. Yet I don’t feel any less afraid for myself or anyone else because someone has been charged by police in relation to Jill’s death. So many attackers – and victims for that matter – are never found and I am helpless to do anything more than think about it. It makes me sad and afraid and angry and it makes me want to try and keep everyone, everywhere safe even though I know I can’t do that.
And so right now, when I should be asleep in bed, I sit in my lounge room and weep for someone I’ve never met. Then I cry for her family and friends. Then for my family and friends. Then for me. Then for you.
Tomorrow morning will see me take my daughter to another three-year-old girl’s birthday party. The kids will run amok, turning the place upside down while the mothers drink coffee. We’ll talk about toilet-training, fussy eaters, how do you get these kids to brush their bloody teeth? It’ll all be light and airy but eventually someone will say “My god, isn’t it so sad…” And in hushed voices we’ll share our thoughts, fears and anger while watching our giggling, exuberant daughters. Just keeping an eye on them. Willing them to stay safe
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