My stepfather had 3 brothers in WWII. All in Europe, because they could speak, read and write fluent German. The youngest of the three was an artillery officer.
One day, the local postmaster drove up to their farm house. Postmasters often delivered the bad news in rural areas - the PM would know the parents at home and the kids in the war. My stepfather and his dad did not get to the PM before he started talking to the mom, “...sorry, your youngest is KIA, German artillery shell hit his artillery battery...”.
You can imagine the impact on the parents. My stepfather said his folks didn’t cry much, but they were emotionally crushed.
About 2 weeks later, the postmaster again came down the driveway. The mom collapsed, crying. PM got out, with a bottle of whiskey, and told the old folks, “Big mistake. One man survived that artillery shell - your son. He is recovering in a hospital!”
At that point they started drinking the whiskey to celebrate. Then, the mom started to cry.
When asked why she was crying, she said, “Somewhere, another family thought their son had survived. Now they are being told he is dead...and I know how that feels.”
I can only imagine how many similar stories there are.