The hardest assignment faced by many journalists is the death knock, knowing that the face on the other side of the door will be streaked with grief at the loss of someone close.

Twice last week I was reminded of the strain of such assignments and the indelible memories they leave on reporters.

The first trigger was the Texas floods in which the bodies of 130 people have been recovered and a further 160 remain missing. Watching interviews with the families of victims was harrowing: Anguished faces and tremulous voices were interspersed with images of joyful eight-year-old girl campers and their pretty teenage counsellors. All gone.

The second was the front page of Saturday’s Waikato Times. It was devoted to a story about an 18-year-old apprentice jockey who died when his dirt bike and a car collided at a Hamilton intersection. In it, his mother spoke of a life of determination and promise cut tragically short. Reporter Avina Vidyadharan had clearly let the woman unburden her grief, speaking of her son’s life, attributes and achievements along with the premonition she had that he had died.

I needed no further reminders, but a Facebook post of a Guardian story of Palestinian children killed in Israeli airstrikes renewed images of the unutterable tragedy that has played out since the government of Benjamin Netanyahu exacted from innocent civilians an awful and unremitting revenge for the Hamas attack on an Israeli music festival last October. Those reporting it are confronted every day by grief at every level, none more so than the journalist covering the story of a doctor who lost nine of her 10 children.

I have vivid recollections of my own experiences as a reporter asking the bereaved to share personal and sometimes intimate recollections of someone suddenly removed from life. The one that is seared into my memory has been there for almost six decades. Continue reading “Six decades on, death knocks remain vivid memories” →