Navigating Grief and Justice: Advocacy for Families Impacted by Violent Crime

Ashley Cook is the Community Education Director and an Advocate for Harold's House, a Children's Advocacy Center covering three counties in East Texas.

In her 13th year in this work, Ashley has trained thousands of children and adults in child abuse prevention and response, and specializes in teaching healthy parenting to at-risk families. She is the media spokesperson for her CAC, and has done advocacy with their Multidisciplinary Team on cases of all kinds. Ashley brings an interesting set of skills to serving children and families in familial homicide, and mass murder cases in particular. In her first career, she worked for seven years in media covering criminal cases, then served three years as a full-time hospice chaplain before being recruited into the CAC world. In 2013, Ashley's family suffered the loss of two loved ones to a mass murderer in a case that made national news.

Ashley has served as ordained clergy in the Episcopal Church since 2011, and has extensive pastoral care experience with families in trauma. She holds a Bachelor of Science in Communication and two Certificates for Ministry. Ashley was a military brat who spent her early childhood outside the United States, so home is wherever she is. Ashley has been married 35 years, has two adult children, and enjoys working on the 1945 cottage she and her husband recently downsized into.

How has your personal experience shaped your approach to grief when working with families who have faced intrafamilial homicide?

Grief after intrafamilial homicide is disorienting and overwhelming. My approach centers on hospitality—making families feel they have some control in a situation where everything else feels lost. Simple things matter: announcing yourself before entering a room, asking permission before sitting or offering food, and always treating the space as theirs, not yours.

These small acts restore a sense of agency. It’s also important to be mindful of children—shielding them from adult conversations that may retraumatize them. And above all, remember that these families often still love the person who caused the harm. Respecting those emotional complexities is key to truly supporting them.

How can the simple act of listening be one of the most healing practices for people who are experiencing loss, particularly in such a traumatic context?

Grief can be incredibly isolating—especially this kind of grief. Friends and family often don’t know how to respond, and may try to avoid conversations that feel heavy or uncomfortable. But what people need most is someone who will simply listen. No advice, no fixes—just presence. When someone has the space to say things out loud, it validates their reality. I remember a hospice patient who said, “I’m dying,” and just needed someone to hear it. Families going through intrafamilial loss need the same thing: someone who will honor their pain by listening without judgment.

When a tragedy like intrafamilial homicide becomes a matter of public interest, how do you help families navigate the emotional toll of media exposure and public scrutiny?

Media attention can retraumatize families, especially children. I encourage families to filter everything—no news playing in the background, no unmonitored social media, and no case talk around kids. Sometimes it helps to temporarily keep children home from school and limit outside contact. For adults, I recommend preparing a simple, respectful response for nosy or well-meaning inquiries: “We’ve been advised not to talk about the case—thank you for respecting that.”

Advocates can also work with media outlets to follow ethical guidelines for reporting on crime victims and monitor their online content to prevent harmful commentary. It’s not about censorship—it’s about protecting dignity.

After the initial shock and grief subside, what are some of the long-term challenges families face, and how can they continue to heal in the years that follow an intrafamilial homicide?

After the initial wave of shock, families often face complex challenges like survivor guilt, fractured relationships, anxiety, and depression. Some struggle with basic routines—eating, sleeping, functioning. If these disruptions persist past six months, counseling is strongly recommended. For some, engaging in advocacy or public awareness work can be empowering—but it’s critical they understand the legal implications and privacy risks.

Healing doesn’t happen in isolation; it takes trusted relationships, trauma-informed mental health care, spiritual support if desired, and a dependable circle of people who can walk with them through the long-term journey.

How does the grief experience differ after the first year, compared to the second?

The first year is raw—marked by disbelief, emotional survival, and the pain of navigating milestone “firsts” without the person who is gone. In the second year, the fog starts to lift, and people begin the hard work of healing—emotionally, spiritually, and physically. It’s not about “moving on” but rather learning how to carry the loss while rebuilding a new kind of normal. This is when families may be more open to resources, support groups, or reconnecting with community. Advocates should be ready with tools and check-ins well beyond that first year.

Do you have a favorite quote or saying that you live by or that has helped you through tough times?

A phrase we used to wear on the back of our CAC T-shirts says it best:
“We may not be able to change what happened, but we can make every day better.”
That’s how I approach the work—to make each family’s experience, even on their worst day, a little more bearable. And there are moments that remind us why it matters. One child came to our center after I’d taught at their school. During the forensic interview, the child said, “I knew what was happening to me at home was wrong, because that lady taught us.” That one moment—knowing that child is now safe—makes every hard day and all 13 years of this work worth it.