The Root of Healing Blog

One thing I often wish others knew is what this loss feels like on a daily basis for a survivor. I do not wish this experience on anyone but having someone's compassion and understanding of how this loss completely consumes people sometimes is important to me. "Loss is loss" right? No. But people believe this. When my dad died, I had people tell me stories of their losses. Their experiences did not sound like mine and I was lost. How do you express how it feels to be so betrayed and violated by someone killing your loved one willingly? How do you ever express that and regain hope? In my experience being heard comes from hearing others like you, allowing gratitude in not comparison, and simply telling our story. I have shared my dad's murder story with minor detail for 16 years and every time it opens up conversation with someone who needed to tell their story. Listening and hearing them helps me then find hope and faith that this is not the end even if painful. Allow hope to be a part of your story. Allow your story to be heard. Allow good in....

Our home was so cozy and festive this Christmas season. Lighted garland hung over every doorway, mirror, bannister, and window. Wreaths adorned every door, and bells hung from every doorknob. Three Christmas trees were heavy with a ridiculous amount of sentimental ornaments, and mistletoe was strategically hung so that the ‘chef’ was always kissed. Our home isn’t sparkling anymore. Everything has been stored. Remnants of tinsel and garland have been vacuumed; the Christmas sweater has been laundered, and the Christmas brooches have been removed from the lapels of coats. …& like clockwork my body freezes when I shockingly realize what season comes next. Pause. Full stop. Nope. Can’t do it. Mardi Gras is the next season, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and bury myself under the covers until it’s over. Emotions are flowing differently this year because of the horrific domestic terrorist attack in New Orleans. My heart is shattered and broken for the victims and their families. All I know to do is to be still, to focus on my complete faith in Him , to cry out for peace and healing. He will bring light into the darkness. He will. -Claire Cunningham, Survivor

The seconds, minutes, hours, and days following Toby’s murder are a hazy , confusing blur. I don’t remember much of my drive from Hattiesburg to the hospital in New Orleans. I remember very little about the drive from New Orleans to Broussard. My boyfriend, now husband, bravely and stoically stepped in to guide our family through decisions and arrangements that needed to be made. I remember meeting the funeral director and walking out. I remember being asked about specific scriptures and songs only to find myself walking out again and again. I remember sitting on the floor of my parents living room obsessing over finding every single photo they had of Toby. I was totally useless. I kept telling myself that Toby would walk through the front door and I would ‘wake up’ and emerge from the fog. All I wanted to do was escape, to flee, to run as fast as I could to get as far away from everyone who insisted on planning this ridiculous, unnecessary funeral. I refused to believe that Toby was dead. Despite seeing his broken body in the hospital, I refused to believe that he was gone. I was tasked with bringing Toby’s suit, shirt and tie to the funeral director. I certainly don’t remember the drive, but I vividly remember crawling into the backseat and clinging to Toby’s suit as it hung on the hanger. Time slowed, tears flowed, and Toby and I talked . I begged him to come back. I told him to always be with me. I told him to always find ways to let me know that he is with me. Toby’s tear stained suit eventually made it to the funeral director, but I haven’t any idea how. He has kept his backseat promise of finding clever ways to show me that he is always with me -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Another year has passed. I celebrated a birthday recently. I still looked at my phone at 6am and remembered my dad's call. He would always try to be the first to say happy birthday. And if I am honest, in a way, he will always still be because he gets the first for so many things in my life. He is first to celebrate with me, first to be sad and cry with me, and has a front row to every part of my life. This is true because he lives in me and through me. He still is my best friend in many ways. No, I know what you may be thinking. He is not here so 'its not the same' right? But while that is logically true, when we allow our perspective of grief and pain to shift to what is possible, beautiful things happen. Everyone reading this has a unique relationship with their loved one and whoever killed them is not allowed to hold the power of changing that relationship. Their memory, meaning in your life, and who they were was not murdered. They live even in the pain of the loss, the joy in the new life thats being developed, and all of the in between. Let them show up.

I remember everything about that frozen moment in time all too well. Sometimes I can recall everything in detail; other times I cannot remember a thing. Some memories are crystal clear as if happening in real time. Some memories are hazy and fuzzy despite my best efforts to remember. The remembering hits differently this time of year. Cooler temperatures and barren trees represent moving deeper into a new season. I love it. I hate it. I am sad; my sleep is restless; I am a master daydreamer and cloud gazer. I am quieter; I want to sleep; I isolate and retreat into the corner of the couch losing myself in documentaries or audio books that are about the holocaust, true crime, survivor, and memoir related. I am heavy; I am in my head; I am without a smile, grin or laugh. All I can think about is being transported with my family back in time to relive holidays when Toby was alive. …but that’s not living, nor is it realistic. So, I will fill my home with lights this Christmas season as a reminder that light overcomes the darkness. I will cast my sorrows at the feet of Christ who is the light of the world. He will turn my melancholy into joy. My heart will be light. I will sing songs of worship because he carries me through deep waters. “Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give LIGHT to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace.” Luke 1:78-79 -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Recently, I’ve been slowly drowning in a turbulent sea of confusion, frustration, loneliness, anxiety, and sadness. I get lost rambling inside my head replaying countless memories. This happens every single year right around this time- the transition into the holiday season. So, I hold on. I hold onto the glorious smells, the joyful celebrations, the infectious laughter, the busy-ness of the kitchen, the smiling faces, and the never-ending bear hugs. Sadness grips me for a while, but He pulls me out and walks with me right through the tsunami of despair. I am able to walk through with confident hope because I am not alone. He protects me from the paralyzing lies that fear and anxiety try to project. He comforts me with memories that stir joyful emotions. I used to hold on tightly in a feeble attempt to ride each crashing wave of sadness, but this season I’m going surfing. He is going to surf each wave with me. I will be able to hang ten because of His promise to bring peace to my weary soul. - Claire Cunningham

Where I’m from people try to figure out how they know one another. We will explore every possibility and combination of events, ancestors and locations in order to determine a common denominator. Questions such as, “Who’s your momma?”, “What’s your maiden name?”, “What’s your Dad’s name?”, “Where’d you go to school?”, and “Are you related to the so-and-so’s from such and such small town?” Eventually the link will be discovered and everyone will walk away having discovered they’re second cousins twice removed. Recently, Mom and I had a unique opportunity to be in the presence of beautiful souls at the 2024 Case Symposium in Jacksonville. We didn’t need to speak a word because everyone knew the common denominator. There’s a familiar comfortability and peace when you’re in the presence of others who can empathize without having to explain a thing. We were amongst complete strangers who totally understood our story, and we understood theirs. Connections were made, support was found, and everyone was seen, heard, acknowledged, and recognized. We returned home having established new friendships and connections made in order to hopefully move the needle towards determining answers. We are beyond thankful for complete strangers and amazing friends who met us exactly where we are and freely offered their wisdom, compassion, insight, and hope. We are forever grateful to have been seen and heard in an environment that was emotionally stable and safe. Thank you. -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Tomorrow is my dad's 16th birthday since he died. This would have been his 73rd birthday. So many moments I remember what was and yearn for what should be. A friend of mine asked me recently, "How are you doing as we approach the 29th?" I responded that I am okay, that I wish I could see him age, and this year will look different. We went on to chat more. Grief evolves. I told her, through the years, I think where I’m at in my grief is that I don’t remember a lot of things about him at this point. What makes my heart saddest with this reality is that I was never given the chance to get to know things that I probably never knew before like his favorite songs or childhood memory. Little Things like that I’ll never know and this is yet another tiny funeral. Tomorrow I will celebrate my dad's birthday like I always do with such gratitude for the years we had and I will choose to remember him even when this requires me to welcome the sadness and pain caused by his murder. I will end this with one of my favorite memories of my dad. We would always ride bikes and one time we rented a tandem bike and rode together. My favorite times wiht him were riding bikes. I miss him and I wish he was here but until I see him again, I will continue to ride ad live my life to the fullest for him. Happy 73rd birthday DAD!

Well, here it is. The day has come. My birthday. The intoxicating, sweet, sugary smell of birthday cake, the house decked out in balloons and banners, the birthday outfit, and the celebratory family birthday meal are all things that I look forward to. I absolutely love celebrating birthdays. I adore our family tradition of celebrating the day before by recounting the events of the previous year. We celebrate the blessings of the year that has launched us into this new year. However, there is a pit of sadness deep within my soul every single birthday.  I will not get a ridiculous, sarcastic, hysterical, pop cultures birthday card from Toby, nor will I get a phone call at an absurd hour asking to speak with the birthday big sister. So, I sit in sadness for a tiny bit reminiscing of birthdays past and am instantly brought back into joy. Toby always finds a way to pull me out of melancholy and make me smile. Usually, it’s a song…like right now Bob Dylan is wailing in my ear buds, or a bright orange streak brightens the morning skyline. I smile. I allow a tear to run down my cheek, and I remind myself that Tobs is here. He is in my heart and he is with me… and it’s 8:09 am. -Claire Cunningham