Rachel Ganz’s husband might be alive. But he might not be.

More than three months after he was last seen near the Eleven Point River in Missouri amid severe flooding and evacuation orders, Jon Ganz is just ... missing.

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, “though I am envious of those who have death certificates.”

Like the families of the missing after the July 4 Texas floods, Rachel is suffering 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 Rachel’s 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 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.”

‘Repetitive trauma response’

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.”

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 nearly 200 missing, though that number has dwindled. 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 roughly every minute it remained at its crest.

Those without bodies to bury have been 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. And she is one of thousands in Ukraine left behind.

“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.”

Grappling through the loss

Rachel, whose husband went missing in Missouri in April, said the sheriff’s department and others searched far and wide at first.

She posted fliers around the town where his car was found, and on social media.

Then someone accused her of “grieving without proof,” a remark that still makes her fume.

“One of my biggest frustrations has been people stating, ‘If you need anything, please let me know,’” Rachel said.

That puts the burden on her, and follow-through has been hard to come by, she said. “We already have enough ambiguity.”

She’s thinking about setting up a nonprofit organisation in Jon’s honor, dedicated to breaking the stigma against men getting therapy, to show “that it’s not weak.”

Boss recommends separate community meetings for families of the confirmed dead and those of the missing.

For the latter, a specific acknowledgement is helpful: “You have to first say to the people, ‘What you are experiencing is an ambiguous loss. It’s one of the most difficult kinds of losses there is because there’s no resolution. It’s not your fault,’” Boss said.

In Ukraine, Rudenko said it helps to recognise that families of the missing and everyone else live in “two different worlds.”

“Sometimes we don’t need words, because people who have not been affected by ambiguous loss will never find the right words,” she said. “Sometimes we just need to be hugged and left in silence.” – AP