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This is a pretty good article that was in the Halifax paper this morning about the care taken in the NOK team when the unfortunate news has to be delivered. We talked about this a little here when the debate was on about the family who were complaining about not being adequately compensated and briefed on their entitlements. Shared with the usual disclaimers. It's actually pretty accurate for an MSM article (some PAO most have written it for them)
http://thechronicleherald.ca/Canada/854826.html
Your job: Delivering the worst possible news
By BOB WEBER The Canadian Press
EDMONTON — The first warning is a phone call. It is never good.
It alerts an unlucky spouse, partner or parent that within the next few minutes they can expect a visit from a team of sombre military officers. Even before the dreaded knock on the door, the family knows something bad has happened.
Practice makes perfect in tragedy as in everything else, and military officials acknowledge that 18 months of fighting in southern Afghanistan has made them much better at delivering word of death or injury — and supporting those affected by it.
"Unfortunately, we’ve gotten very good at it," said Capt. Rod De Roij, a casualty repatriation liaison officer, one of six officers who recently sat down to talk about what happens when a soldier dies.
On Wednesday, two Canadian soldiers from a Quebec-based regiment died when a roadside bomb went off west of Kandahar.
The Canadian military says an Afghan interpreter was also killed and two Canadian journalists and another soldier were injured in the incident.
Delivering bad news, especially in an age when the Internet makes details and events almost immediately available, has come a long way from previous conflicts. During the Second World War, families were sometimes notified by telegrams delivered by railway service agents.
Today, casualty reports reach Canada almost as soon as they are radioed in from the battlefield, said Capt. Larry Cashman of the operations centre at Land Force Western Area headquarters in Edmonton.
Duty officers in Kandahar type whatever information they have into a secure Internet connection, a sort of chat room constantly monitored by officers from all units in the theatre of operations.
Still, first reports are always sketchy.
"They tell us how many have been hurt," said Cashman. "It takes a while from the theatre before they can tell who the people are."
Word starts to spread — from Chief of Defence Staff Rick Hillier’s office to the unit involved. That unit scrambles its notification team: the commanding officer, the regimental sergeant-major and a padre.
When identities are confirmed, the team heads out the door, usually within six hours of the tragic bomb or bullet. They make the phone call when they’re about five minutes away, or, sometimes, while sitting in the driveway.
"It’s an opportunity for (the next-of-kin) to throw on a housecoat," said Maj. John Bruce, a personnel manager. "They probably have an indication that something not good has happened."
Although it takes place far from the front, what comes next is one of the toughest jobs in the military.
"I’ve had all the reactions," said Capt. Dennis Newhook, an Anglican padre who has broken tragic news five times. "Shock. Disbelief. Anger."
One man took a swing at him. Once, a woman turned and ran out the front door. Most just listen, stunned.
"The first thing to do is explain what happened and, as best we can, how," said Bruce. "Beyond that, they really don’t hear much else."
If there is no one to stay with a person who has just lost a loved one, someone from the notification team remains behind. Nobody is left alone.
Each family is then assigned an assisting officer, whose responsibility it is to ensure they get whatever help they need: counselling, financial advice, assistance with a move, sometimes just being there. It’s an all-consuming job.
"All my waking hours, pretty much," said De Roij, thinking back to when he served in that capacity. "For the first two weeks, you live to do what you’re doing for this family.
"It was also one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had."
The relationship between the assisting officer and the affected family can last for months. The officer joins them as they travel at military expense to Trenton, Ont., where returning bodies arrive.
"It’s draining," said Newhook. "You become embedded in their family. You’re so personally tied to them you’re experiencing the grief, the anguish, the happy times. It’s hard to pull out on that."
’The first thing to do is explain what happened and, as best we can, how. Beyond that, they really don’t hear much else.’
maj. john brucePersonnel manager
http://thechronicleherald.ca/Canada/854826.html
Your job: Delivering the worst possible news
By BOB WEBER The Canadian Press
EDMONTON — The first warning is a phone call. It is never good.
It alerts an unlucky spouse, partner or parent that within the next few minutes they can expect a visit from a team of sombre military officers. Even before the dreaded knock on the door, the family knows something bad has happened.
Practice makes perfect in tragedy as in everything else, and military officials acknowledge that 18 months of fighting in southern Afghanistan has made them much better at delivering word of death or injury — and supporting those affected by it.
"Unfortunately, we’ve gotten very good at it," said Capt. Rod De Roij, a casualty repatriation liaison officer, one of six officers who recently sat down to talk about what happens when a soldier dies.
On Wednesday, two Canadian soldiers from a Quebec-based regiment died when a roadside bomb went off west of Kandahar.
The Canadian military says an Afghan interpreter was also killed and two Canadian journalists and another soldier were injured in the incident.
Delivering bad news, especially in an age when the Internet makes details and events almost immediately available, has come a long way from previous conflicts. During the Second World War, families were sometimes notified by telegrams delivered by railway service agents.
Today, casualty reports reach Canada almost as soon as they are radioed in from the battlefield, said Capt. Larry Cashman of the operations centre at Land Force Western Area headquarters in Edmonton.
Duty officers in Kandahar type whatever information they have into a secure Internet connection, a sort of chat room constantly monitored by officers from all units in the theatre of operations.
Still, first reports are always sketchy.
"They tell us how many have been hurt," said Cashman. "It takes a while from the theatre before they can tell who the people are."
Word starts to spread — from Chief of Defence Staff Rick Hillier’s office to the unit involved. That unit scrambles its notification team: the commanding officer, the regimental sergeant-major and a padre.
When identities are confirmed, the team heads out the door, usually within six hours of the tragic bomb or bullet. They make the phone call when they’re about five minutes away, or, sometimes, while sitting in the driveway.
"It’s an opportunity for (the next-of-kin) to throw on a housecoat," said Maj. John Bruce, a personnel manager. "They probably have an indication that something not good has happened."
Although it takes place far from the front, what comes next is one of the toughest jobs in the military.
"I’ve had all the reactions," said Capt. Dennis Newhook, an Anglican padre who has broken tragic news five times. "Shock. Disbelief. Anger."
One man took a swing at him. Once, a woman turned and ran out the front door. Most just listen, stunned.
"The first thing to do is explain what happened and, as best we can, how," said Bruce. "Beyond that, they really don’t hear much else."
If there is no one to stay with a person who has just lost a loved one, someone from the notification team remains behind. Nobody is left alone.
Each family is then assigned an assisting officer, whose responsibility it is to ensure they get whatever help they need: counselling, financial advice, assistance with a move, sometimes just being there. It’s an all-consuming job.
"All my waking hours, pretty much," said De Roij, thinking back to when he served in that capacity. "For the first two weeks, you live to do what you’re doing for this family.
"It was also one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had."
The relationship between the assisting officer and the affected family can last for months. The officer joins them as they travel at military expense to Trenton, Ont., where returning bodies arrive.
"It’s draining," said Newhook. "You become embedded in their family. You’re so personally tied to them you’re experiencing the grief, the anguish, the happy times. It’s hard to pull out on that."
’The first thing to do is explain what happened and, as best we can, how. Beyond that, they really don’t hear much else.’
maj. john brucePersonnel manager
