Columbine Massacre, Day 2 - Reality Bites....HARD!

CO Columbine TZH

Much has been said, written, debated, argued, and analyzed about the massacre that took place at Columbine High School 20 years ago this coming April.

Much has been said about the victims who were murdered.

Much has been said about the victims who were physically injured.

But it hasn't been until somewhat recently that other survivor stories have begun to emerge....stories of those who were there that day but were not physically injured.

I truly don't know why those stories have taken so long to emerge, but it's a very good thing, in my opinion, that they finally are.

One such example was recently published in Westword, a local media outlet in the Denver Metro area:

Columbine Survivors Talk About the Wounds That Won't Heal

"Sadly, Columbine has also become a case study in the long-range trauma inflicted by such an event. In the months after the shootings, reporters wrote frequently about the challenges faced by the most seriously injured Columbine students, a wealth of inspiring stories about healing and recovery. But there’s been surprisingly little written about the less obvious wounds some survivors still grapple with to this day, including panic disorders and PTSD, depression and substance abuse."

There are others, as well. Some of those include stories of survivors who were there, but also stories of survivors who weren't physically 'there' when a school shooting took place. Those people had family or close friends that were.

One of those publications is If I Don't Make It, I Love You:

Cover: If I Don't Make It, I Love You

This anthology is scheduled for publication Summer 2019. For more details please visit their Facebook page of the same name: If I Don't Make It, I Love You. They also have a Twitter feed of the same name, as well: If I Don't Make It, I Love You.

From their website:

"If I Don’t Make It, I Love You features voices from over seventy people and fifty-two years, beginning with the Santa Fe High School shooting in May, 2018, and working backwards through the time and legacy of these events all the way to the University of Texas Tower shooting in 1966. Stories include parents grieving children, children grieving parents, friends struggling with survivor’s guilt, mothers and fathers parenting surviving children through trauma, and teachers who’ve survived a shooting only to help students heal through the aftermath. Each story from a different perspective will show yet another ripple from this sustained trauma."

I'm unabashedly going to ask everyone to consider purchasing a copy of this book because:

"The editors have pledged to donate proceeds from this project to survivor groups and networks that support victims and survivors of gun violence."

So, where am I going with all of this?

My April 20, 1999 experience as a 'Columbine Parent' is my contribution to the above anthology. Because April 20 is covered there, this blog post will cover only a snapshot in time of my own 'aftermath' experiences beginning with the day after the massacre.

Ripple effects of school shootings are virtually 'forever' for those who experience them either physically or emotionally. They never go away.

I'm no different in that regard.

With that, here's a small part of my story:

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The day after the massacre eventually did dawn, but not sunny, warm, and bright like the day before....the day of the massacre.

I'm told it was cold, overcast, and rainy. I'm also told it stayed that way for at least two days. Some say it was fitting, given the general mood of the community.

I wasn't even aware of what it was like outside. My focus was on family, particularly on Anne Marie.

The specter of Death still hung heavy over everyone in the Critical Care Unit (CCU) of Swedish Medical Center that morning. That included the families of the three other students injured during the massacre who were brought to Swedish.

But Death did not call during the night for any of those injured kids at Swedish. Nor would Death call for any of the other injured kids transported to Metro area hospitals April 20, 1999.

Some called that a miracle especially given the critical nature of the injuries to so many.

For those of us focused on Anne Marie, each second that went by during the night and into the next day was pure agony not knowing whether she would make it.

This nightmare was real....visceral....raw!

The television in the CCU waiting room was on throughout the night and on into the next day. Every single channel had ongoing coverage of the tragedy.

Everyone watched as video replayed kids running out of the school, hands clasped behind their heads. It was like an endless loop replaying over and over and over.

Video of Patrick Ireland, the 'boy in the window', was replayed so many times I have no doubt it was etched into the collective psyche for all time.

Conversations were subdued for the most part. Everyone was still reeling...in a state of shock, really.

The waiting room for the CCU became a central station for families of injured survivors and families of those whose loved ones were in CCU for other reasons not related to the massacre....the 'normal' patients so to speak.

Every seat, every couch, every nook and cranny of the waiting room was filled with family and friends.

The overflow had people sitting on the floor in the hallways. Others wandered about aimlessly visibly uncomfortable with what was going on. 

Food started showing up mysteriously. Everyone helped themselves, grateful for a little repast, the need for which would otherwise have been ignored. 

Although it had been a sleepless night for my family, the exhaustion would not set in for awhile...adrenaline has a tendency to do things like that to people when stress levels are through the roof.

As soon as dawn broke reality bit hard and all Hell seemed to break loose.

That's when the enormity of what had happened and what lay ahead set in. Anxieties, fear, and hope for those injured, but loathing for those who'd rained down death, terror, and destruction on so many....all of them boiled to the surface.

Everyone was still in shock the night of April 20. The day after was different.

I was uncomfortable with so much going on. Focusing on reality was problematic because I was waiting for the hammer to fall....doctors did not expect Anne Marie to make it through the night much less into the next day. She was still unconscious. No one could spend much time in her room for fear of infection. Anyone given access was required to wear a surgical mask. Access even for us, her family, was limited.

Nathan was taken under wing by another family whose relative had suffered a heart attack. I was less worried about him right then, and grateful beyond words to that family for setting aside some of their own trauma to try and help Nathan deal with his.

Carla worried me. Her demeanor was very flat and emotionless. Scary.

A very close circle of family and friends surrounded us and protected us from the onslaught.

Carla's demeanor didn't change. She perked up every once in awhile when she received news another family member had arrived.

Her paranoia presented itself more and more, though, as the flood of visitors kept on growing. She didn't trust anyone except family she knew. Even some distant relatives on my side of the family she hadn't met previously were suspect in her mind. She didn't know them. She didn't trust them.

She told me she believed someone out there was still going to try to come to the hospital and finish the job they started. I tried to reassure her that wasn't likely to happen because of the heavy security and police presence. She didn't buy it.

Hospital staff went about their jobs and responsibilities as methodically as possible given the disruption in what should have been their normal routines.

Nurses, doctors, social workers, health insurance company representative, psychologist....they all wanted to meet with us.

We decided there had to be a 'team' approach....that we would meet with all of them at the same time daily to discuss strategy. Thank goodness my sister Belva was in most of those meetings with us.

Those meetings made me feel helpless. I couldn't say or do much of anything to help in Anne Marie's treatment regimen. We had to go along with the medical professional's suggestions, recommendations, and strategies for the most part. They asked for approval to go ahead with suggested treatments, but I didn't see any up side to refusing them....only the possibility that Anne Marie would die if I did so.

Their plan was to keep Anne Marie on life support and monitor for infection. They said she probably wouldn't regain consciousness for awhile, and they were keeping her sedated as much as possible.

The psychologist tried to prepare us for when he would start working with Anne Marie....if she survived. He told us these types of injuries require long-term counseling and therapy.

That's when I almost blew a fuse! I'd held it together pretty well to that point, but I was on a much shorter fuse now. The psychologist could tell he'd struck a nerve with me. After all, Anne Marie's psychological and emotional recovery requirements were more than a little obvious. Somehow, though, I forced myself to keep my emotions in check. 

Carla was no help in decision making at all. Maybe my frustration was more with her than anything.

The Swedish Public Affairs liaison sought us out to discuss how to handle media, visitors, and dignitaries. I couldn't cope with that right then and didn't want to deal with anything except to focus on family. Much to my relief she told me she'd come back later.

Carla began to exhibit deeper signs of paranoia regarding visitors. She made me promise not to share anything with anyone about Anne Marie's condition. My own angst was starting to kick in. I had to figure out a way to handle her condition. I was scared and confused, too.

I suppose I should have been somewhat relieved that Anne Marie had actually survived through the night. I wasn't relieved, though. I was scared....terrified, actually.

I was afraid of what might lie ahead, afraid that she had brain damage, afraid that the doctors would say she's brain dead, afraid that she'd lapse into a coma, afraid that she'd contract an infection, afraid most of all that it might come down to me having to make a decision whether or not to keep her on life support if all else failed. Carla wasn't fully capable of being able to make coherent decisions of any kind, much less one of this potential magnitude. That potential responsibility weighed heavily on my mind. It was constant. It was pervasive.

All the worst possible scenarios kept going through my head. I couldn't help it. They'd told me not to expect anything good to come from any of this, so I guess I was trying to prepare myself for what had been presented to me as the inevitable outcome of her injuries. I even started to contemplate what might be involved in donating her organs, should it come to that.

As the morning turned into afternoon, the situation did not change.

The Swedish Public Affairs liaison returned and wanted to know if we'd like to issue some kind of public statement. She'd already talked with the other families about this. Some did. Some didn't.

Carla wanted absolutely NO public statement whatsoever. She was still afraid that someone would try to finish what they started. We decided to hold off for awhile.

The names of those murdered and those who were injured were finally released. I had a difficult time understanding how it could take that long to identify them. It made no sense to me. But, then again, I still had no idea of the magnitude of what had actually happened at Columbine. I knew it was enormous...just not 'how' enormous.

Focus, focus, focus.

Watching TV became problematic for me, so I stopped. 

I didn't want to field any questions from anyone including visitors. All I wanted was to be surrounded by family in these darkest of hours.

The neurologist for Anne Marie took Carla and me into a small room...one of those proverbial 'Quiet Rooms' medical professionals dread going into with patient's loved ones when they have only bad news to share.

He told us even if Anne Marie survived she wouldn't walk again. Apparently one of the two bullets she was shot with damaged her spinal cord. That was some devastating news we both had trouble comprehending. It was one more thing on top of everything else.

Carla finally lost it, but not in the presence of the neurologist. She yelled at me she wanted him fired and expected me to do it. 

I talked with Anne Marie's psychologist and requested a new neurologist. Of course he asked why, and that's when it got uncomfortable for me as I tried to explain that Carla absolutely would not accept the neurologist's diagnosis of paralysis....that she based her position on it being too early to be able to tell for certain, x-rays notwithstanding. Truth is, she may have been right. There was too much swelling and blood collecting in the area to be able to tell definitively the extent of the damage to her spinal cord right then. We knew there was damage. We just didn't know how much.

The psychologist was very nice and diplomatic through it all. He promised to find a new neurologist, and then tried to explain how some in that field lack 'people' skills. 

I told him it didn't matter, 'people skills' or not....that Carla wouldn't accept him or anything he said from that point forward given her state of mind.

To be honest, it didn't matter to me at that point whether Anne Marie would walk again. All I was hoping for was that she survive. The rest would take care of itself later - at least that was the hope.

A little later that afternoon, the Swedish Public Affairs liaison tracked us down again to ask if we would be willing to receive visits from Jefferson County Schools officials, government officials (state and county at this point), and other public figures who wanted to stop by, pay respects, and check on things. Carla did not want any of them anywhere near Anne Marie. But there really was no way to stop them from showing up.

Law enforcement personnel began showing up to ask questions in the ongoing investigation into trying to figure out what happened. They were told Anne Marie was still unconscious and to come back another day after she'd regained consciousness and was coherent enough to answer a few questions.

Some kind of access control became necessary. 

The Swedish Public Affairs liaison and I decided no one would get by security to see or speak with Anne Marie unless approved by me. She was still unconscious at that time anyway, so no one, not even law enforcement, had any reason to try and get to her.

Media control also became problematic.

No media were allowed inside the hospital the day of the massacre.

The next day some media were able to get into the CCU waiting area, and began interviewing anyone who'd talk to them. That had to stop.

So security closed access to the CCU waiting room to everyone not having gone through a visitor identification process upon which a visitor pass was issued....or not, especially if they were media. Even with that, some media lied in order to get a pass, and had to ultimately be 'removed' by security.

Some media were persistent if not downright obnoxious.

I began avoiding the waiting room as much as possible. It was just too hard having to deal with anyone.

There was still a deathly pall hanging over Anne Marie that made me want to cry every time I looked in on her. Eventually I made my peeks into her room less frequent hoping it would be less emotional that way.

As evening neared and things settled down slightly, I took a deep breath and finally began trying to wrap my head around why anyone would want to cause this kind of trauma much less be capable of doing so.

To this day I'm still trying to do that....unsuccessfully I might add.

The journey continues.....

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People Have Stories to Tell - Belva Palmer

Belva Palmer is the youngest of my two younger sisters.

These are some of her memories of the days, weeks, and months following the Columbine massacre.

A couple clarifications for those who read this essay:

• Belva, as Faye also did, mentions 'Jerry' throughout her memories. That would be me. My given name is 'Jerrold', and my family has always known me as 'Jerry'.
• Belva also mentions Marc, Whitney, and Brendon. Marc is Belva's husband, Whitney is her daughter, and Brendon is her son.

Belva Palmer

Belva....in her own words:

I got up and went to work just like any other day. I remember it was absolutely gorgeous outside, very sunny and warm. It was a perfect spring day.

I took an early lunch with my friend to run some errands. We got back to the office around 11:40. I had just finished eating my lunch when another friend came into my office and asked if I had heard about what’s going on at the school. I looked at her and asked “What school?” and she said, “There’s all kinds of shooting going on at Columbine High School.”

I think I kind of went into autopilot mode at that point. I just grabbed the phone and started dialing Jerry’s work number. I didn’t know that he was out of town on business travel. When I didn’t get an answer there I dialed his home number. Carla and Anne Marie sounded a lot alike when on the phone so when Carla answered I thought it was Anne Marie and I said, “Oh thank God you’re OK. Where’s Nathan?” Carla answered, “I don’t know.” And that’s when I realized it was Carla and not Anne Marie.

I asked her if Jerry was there and she told me she was alone so I told her I was on my way and I ran out of my office. I don’t really remember much about the drive over to their house other than the fact that I kept repeating “Please God let them be OK” over and over.

I couldn’t get to their house my regular way since they lived close to the school and the police had the roads blocked so I took an alternate route. I was going to park my car and run to their house if I had to, but the alternate route was open.

I didn’t really know what to expect when I got there because Carla had been ill for quite awhile but she seemed to be very focused and relatively calm when she opened the door.

She told me she had tried to drive to the school but had been turned away. She also told me a teacher had said to her that Anne Marie had been shot but that it was in the foot. We figured that was bad but it wasn’t life threatening so we were just waiting to hear from the school as to what hospital Anne Marie had been sent to and where Nathan was. I guess at that point I was more worried about Nathan since we didn’t know where he was.

Carla had been told to keep their home phone line open in case the school called so we were doing most of our calling on cell phones. I called Marc, told him what was going on and asked him to go to Leawood Elementary (since that was one of the drop off points for students) and look for Nathan.

I’m not sure what the time line was but after awhile a student came to the door and asked if Nathan was home. He told us that Anne Marie had been shot in the stomach. We were much more worried about her after that but we still kind of figured it wasn’t life threatening.

I remember Carla getting pretty upset with her own sister since she kept calling on the home phone line trying to get information. Carla told her we would call her as soon as we heard anything.

Again, I’m not sure of the time but two of Anne Marie and Nathan’s friends, along with their mom, and another friend came to the house. Two of them were sitting with Anne Marie when she was shot.

They were the ones who told us that Anne Marie had been shot in the chest. They also told us that they thought she had been taken to Swedish Medical Center. I think they must have stopped to clean up because I remember looking at one of their pants and seeing drops of blood on them.

I ran across the street to the neighbor’s house and asked them if they could give Carla a ride to the hospital. Before Carla left, Jerry called the house and that’s when Carla told him that Anne Marie had been shot in the chest.

The friends who told us Anne Marie had been shot in the chest volunteered to go to the Jefferson County Public Library and look for Nathan since that was the other drop off point for students. During this whole time, I was calling relatives to give them status reports on what we knew.

After Carla left I just paced in their family room watching the TV and trying to see if I could spot Nathan in the stream of kids running from the school. I remember starting to cry but then I stopped myself thinking I couldn’t do that right then and that I had to keep myself “together”.

One of my friends called and asked if there was anything she could do for me. I asked her to come over and possibly give me a ride to the hospital once we knew where Nathan was. I also asked her to call her husband at the time and see if he could pick up my kids from school.

Since all of the area schools had gone into “lock down” when this happened, I called the school and talked with the principal to let him know our situation because the schools were not releasing children to anyone other than their parents.

I told him who was coming to pick up Whitney and Brendon and that he should have Whitney visually identify him and also to have the school check his driver’s license. Because of the circumstances, the principal agreed to do this for us.

It was pretty late in the afternoon when I got a call from Marc. He said the five most beautiful words I’ve ever heard in my life … “I’ve got Nathan. He’s OK.” I told him which hospital Anne Marie was at and he took Nathan there.

I then called Mom and Dad and Carla’s sister in Minnesota to tell them that Nathan was OK. I also called the friends who’d gone to the library to let them know that Nathan was OK. I told them I was locking up the house and was on my way to the hospital.

My friend and I went to the hospital but we had to wait downstairs for a while until Carla’s cousin and her husband left (Swedish was trying to limit the number of people in the Critical Care Unit). Marc had left to go to the airport and pick up Jerry from his flight into Denver.

I remember my first glimpse of Anne Marie and how I couldn’t believe all the machines hooked up to her keeping her alive. She looked very fragile and very pale.

After that it’s pretty much a blur. There were lots of meetings with Doctors, Social Workers, PR people, etc. Jerry, Carla and I would usually all go to these meetings so that there would be less chance of missing something important. We took a lot of very scattered notes but I’m not sure what happened to those notes.

I was at the hospital with Jerry and Carla nonstop for 2 days without any sleep for any of us. Marc came by on Wednesday and he told me he was taking me home to get some sleep. When I asked him why (I really didn’t want to leave Jerry and Carla) he told me I was talking really goofy (guess I was exhausted and not making any sense whatsoever at that point).

When I finally did go home on Wednesday night to take a shower and get a little sleep I remember Whitney giving me her newest beanie baby “Hope” (an angel bear) and asking me to give Hope to Anne Marie for company. Anne Marie kept that bear within reach for most of the time her first week or so in the hospital.

Whitney really wanted to go to the hospital but Marc and I thought we should wait to take the kids to see Anne Marie until she was a little stronger and in a little less danger health wise.

I think it was about a week after Columbine that we finally let the kids come to the hospital to see Anne Marie. I sat them down and explained that there were all kinds of tubes and machines hooked up to Anne Marie and that it might look a little scary to them but that those machines were helping Anne Marie.

After taking the kids in to see Anne Marie as we left her room I remember Whitney looking up at me and telling me “Geez Mom, she didn’t look that bad!” At that point I realized my kids were a lot more mature and accepting than I gave them credit for.

I was absolutely blown away and completely humbled by the outpouring of support from the local community, the nation and people from around the world. The Columbine families received cards, flowers, gifts and prayers from thousands of people. I think sometimes that’s what kept us going during that awful time. It was the knowledge that a lot of very good people were praying for us.

I'll end this post with a special thank you to Belva Palmer just as I did for Faye Rockswold. Belva's love and support and her family's love and support throughout our healing journey following the Columbine massacre will never be forgotten.

Hopefully you'll consider contributing more essays and insights in the future.

Love you and yours more than you'll ever know.

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People Have Stories to Tell - Faye Rockswold

Faye Rockswold is the oldest of my two younger sisters.

These are some of her memories of the days, weeks, and months following the Columbine massacre.

A couple clarifications for those who read this essay:

• Faye mentions 'Jerry' throughout her memories. That would be me. My given name is 'Jerrold', and my family has always known me as 'Jerry'.
• Faye also mentions Rocky, Jill, and Brent. Rocky is Faye's husband, Jill is her daughter, and Brent is her son.
• Finally, she also mentions Belva. Belva is our youngest sister. Her essay will soon follow this one.

Faye Rockswold

Faye....in her own words:

I remember it was a Tuesday.  I had taken emergency leave to attend the funeral of my Aunt Tina in New Leipzig.  It’s about a 4 hour drive and the funeral was at 1:00 Mountain time.  Rocky and I talked as we drove and didn’t have the radio on.   It was a very nice funeral service and I remember spending a little extra time out at the cemetery visiting with some relatives.  When we got back to the church, the ladies had lunch ready.  I sat down and had just taken one bite of my jello when Ed Hochhalter came up and said there was someone by the door who wanted to speak to me.  I remember thinking it was a little odd and wondered who would stay out by the door and not come on in.  I was REALLY puzzled when I saw the person who wanted to talk to me was Carrie Roth.  She handed me a piece of paper with Mom and Dad’s phone number on it and said Mom had called her (because there is not a phone at the church) and asked her to tell me there was an emergency and I should call back immediately.  My first thought was that something had happened to Dad.  We walked to Carrie’s house, which was only about a block away.  I was in no hurry to get there because I knew it could be nothing but bad news.

When I finally got Mom on the phone, she asked if I had been watching the news.  Now I was really puzzled.  At this point, Carrie turned on her TV and I saw people and cars running around a building.  I had no idea what was going on.  Then, Mom just blurted out, “Anne Marie’s been shot!”  It felt like someone had hit me in the gut.  I don’t remember much of the rest of the conversation.  I was barely able to tell Carrie that my brother Jerry’s daughter had been shot.  She immediately went back to the church to get Rocky and we left for home.

The drive home normally takes about 4 hours.  It seemed like an eternity.  We had the radio on the whole way, but there were only very spotty reports.  By this time, I knew our kids were home and decided to call them and tell them what we knew.  They knew there had been shootings at Columbine High School and were concerned about their cousins Anne Marie and Nathan.  As Jill said, some of her classmates kept telling her, “It’s a big school.  What are the chances they’d be involved?”  Never say never.

Once we got home, the phone calls started.  I think we were on the phone either with Belva or Jerry for at least 2 or 3 hours.  At this time, Anne Marie was in critical condition and there was no way to know if she’d survive.  I remember waking up almost every hour that night, looking at the clock and thinking, “OK.  It’s 2 o’clock (then 3 o’clock, then 4 o’clock, etc.) No phone call.  That’s good.”  We all decided to go to work and school the next day because we really didn’t know what else to do.  THAT was a very long day! 

That night, Belva told me she had heard that United Airlines was setting up flights for immediate family members and gave me a number to call.  The first time I called, the lady I talked to told me “immediate family” included aunts and uncles, but not cousins.  I hung up and after talking it over we all decided Rocky and I should go.  Jill and Brent had Grandma Florence, Rocky's Mom, here, so they’d be fine staying home.  When I called back I got a different person.  She asked if I had called just a few minutes earlier and was very relieved when I told her yes.  The previous person who had told me aunts and uncles only was crying because she had given me the wrong information.  Those poor people had had this dropped in their laps on very short notice and with very little direction.  Lots of people were very stressed.

A friend offered to drive us to Jamestown and the 4 of us took off from Jamestown airport the next morning.  There was a cab waiting for us at DIA and we were dropped off at Swedish Hospital.  We were directed to a small room where a man was on the phone.  I heard him talking about surgery and vertebrae.  Later, I found out he was Richard Castaldo’s father.

Those days at the hospital are somewhat of a blur.  I remember sleeping on chairs in the waiting room, and later on cushions on the floor of the conference room they let our family camp out in.  Family members took turns sleeping at the hospital to make sure there was always someone there in case Anne Marie needed us.  There was a constant stream of friends and well wishers as well as several celebrities.  It’s funny how I always wondered how I’d react if I actually met someone with ‘celebrity’ status.  In some ways, I think some of them were more uncomfortable and at a loss for words than we were.  They all came across as very vulnerable and caring people.  I remember two football players in particular.  One was Dan Schlereth (spelling?), Mark (can’t remember his last name) and the chaplain from the Denver Broncos football team.  They came several times hoping to see Anne Marie and offer her words of encouragement and faith.  Dan left a bible for her personalized with some bible verses and a testimony of faith he wrote on the inside of the front cover.  I was very impressed with their genuine compassion and hope they eventually were allowed in to see her.  During the time I was there, visitors in her room were very limited by the hospital staff.

The doctors and nurses were wonderful.  They were very patient with all the harried relatives running around their critical care unit.  I don’t remember ever having to wait to have a question answered or a concern addressed.  I never heard any of them get cranky or impatient when we were in their way or looking over their shoulders.

It sounds a little strange to say that an experience like this renewed my faith in people as a whole, but that’s what happened.  It started with all the friends and family who called us at home – before we left for Littleton and after we returned – offering us words of encouragement and prayers, as well as offers to take care of our dogs, cats and horses while we were gone.  It continued with the offer of flights to Denver by United Airlines and their efforts to bend over backwards for us.  When it was time for us to return home, we got to DIA and found very long lines at the ticket counters.  We must have looked a bit lost because a woman who was obviously a United employee asked if she could help us.  We explained our situation and were immediately taken to a counter normally used for freight check-in.  We were checked in and on our way to our gate in under 5 minutes.  The caring and compassion continued after we got home as we were given phone cards so we could keep in touch without having to rack up horrendous telephone bills.  We used every single minute on the cards and I spent hours on the phone for many weeks afterwards, with my brother Jerry and sister Belva.   

In Denver, I was impressed with the compassion shown by the media.  To be honest, I was expecting to see cameras and reporters at every door to the hospital.  However, they respected our privacy and left us alone.  It was very much appreciated.

At the hospital, we never went hungry.  Several churches and other organizations brought at least one meal a day for the Columbine families who had children there.  I believe that at the beginning, there were at least 45 people for each meal.  The food was tremendous!  We also had to be careful what we talked about because things we mentioned would just show up.  The water in the hospital wasn’t the greatest and after several of us were talking about it one day, several cases of bottled water showed up in the conference room where we were staying.  Another time, one of us mentioned it would be nice to have disposable cameras to take pictures of all the people who came to visit.  Shortly after that, several cameras were left on a table.

It seemed as if people couldn’t do enough to help.  Jerry and Carla’s neighbor told us to bring all the laundry over to their house.  They washed, dried and folded everything we brought.  One night, there were 2 jars of chicken soup left by the back door of Jerry and Carla’s house.  At the hospital, there were thousands of cards, letters and emails.  It was really amazing.  I think everyone was hurting.  The whole experience was mind boggling.  This kind of stuff happens to ‘other people’.  I never thought I’d be one of those ‘other people’.

Just 6 months after the shootings at Columbine High School, the suicide of Anne Marie’s mother, my sister-in-law Carla, added another layer of shock and pain to an already unbelievable experience.  Once again, the caring and compassionate side of people from all walks of life shone through.  There’s no way to adequately express how much we appreciate all that was done for us.

People still ask me how my “niece who was injured at Columbine” and my brother are doing.  That’s one of the advantages of living in a rural community.  Everyone knows everyone else.  People haven’t forgotten.  The Columbine experience left a very deep impression on many people and in my opinion, brought out the best in most.

The end of 1999 was very stressful for many people.  The Millennium was looming and many were expecting disaster.  I wrote the following letter to the editor and put it in several papers in our area.  I can only hope that it helped calm the fears of a few people and helped them see the good around them.

Letter to the editor:

Many people (the Media included) think our country is going down the tubes.  People are arming themselves for the purpose of self defense, teenagers are running wild in the streets, and someone hoping to commit a crime is lurking around every corner.  This may be a slight exaggeration, but it’s pretty close to what’s being portrayed in the Media today.  I and my entire family have found out from firsthand experience that this picture is very distorted.  In fact, it’s just not true.

There is evil out there.  This was proven on April 20 when those two boys walked into Columbine High School and started shooting.  One of the victims was our niece, Anne Marie.  However, ever since that day, we have seen that the good FAR outweighs the evil.  It’s been proven through the efforts (which are continuing today) of the people in Littleton to do whatever they can to help my brother and his family, and the families of the other victims.  We have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of caring and love from the people of the Denver area, our area right here, and the entire nation.  It’s actually been a very humbling experience.

I can’t begin to tell about all the wonderful things people have done, and continue to do.  In this area, many people have asked what they can do to help and have offered to continue to pray for our family.  There’s hardly a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask me how my brother’s family is doing and offer to continue to pray for them.  That helps more than you will ever know.  I truly believe that the progress Anne Marie is making is due in large part to the many prayers that are being offered in her behalf.  We can never thank you enough.  She is regaining some sensation and each time I talk to her or my brother, they are excited about some other kind of movement.  The latest is that she is able to move her ankles and has some activity in her hamstring muscles.

The many cards and expressions of sympathy and concern following the suicide of my sister-in-law were also very much appreciated.  It has been a very difficult time for our family, and again, the caring thoughts and prayers from everyone have been a great help.

While many people face January 1, 2000 with trepidation, this whole experience has served to help me look forward to the new millennium with a renewed faith in the basic goodness of people.  Thank you, and God bless you all!

Faye Rockswold

I'll end this post with a special thank you to Faye Rockswold. Faye's love and support and her family's love and support throughout our healing journey following the Columbine massacre will never be forgotten.

Hopefully you'll consider contributing more essays and insights in the future.

Love you and yours more than you'll ever know.

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People Have Stories to Tell - Mary Kay Mace

The first time this blog was begun a few years ago it was intended to provide a forum for anyone and everyone having been affected by gun violence trauma to share their personal stories of survival and healing.

The blog is back, and every once in awhile I'll be kicking in with a story of my own. 

In the meantime, the first guest blog post I'm sharing is from Mary Kay Mace whose daughter, Ryanne, was killed at Northern Illinois University February 14, 2008.

Ryanne Mace - Summer 2005

This essay is Mary Kay's recounting of her memories from one year following the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT. These are the 'ripple effects' of gun violence and the effects it has on survivors.

I remember exactly where I was when I found out. I was sitting in my home office one year ago today when I saw the news that a gunman was reported at a Connecticut elementary school. I immediately felt my stomach clench. I hoped fervently that the situation was under control and that no one was hurt. I kept checking for updates but the news kept getting worse. Then the number of fatalities was reported: 26 dead – 20 of them, little kids. I felt as though I'd been plunged into a river of ice. My body started shaking uncontrollably and did so for the rest of that day. My husband was on a conference call all that morning and I knew that I had to let him know what had happened before he saw it elsewhere. I tried to dry my tears and clean up my face before I went in to him but all it took was one look at me for him to know: it's happened again. 

“Every parent's worst nightmare.” “I can't even imagine.” Those are two of the phrases I heard often in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook shooting. I can't claim to know the exact feelings of the families whose loved ones were the children and educators killed a year ago. Sadly, I don't have to imagine too much because I have more of an idea than most people do. My daughter, Ryanne, was killed in the mass shooting at Northern Illinois University on Valentine's Day of 2008. A gunman entered the lecture hall where an Ocean Sciences class was about to wrap up. He shot the instructor in the shoulder and then turned his gun on the 100-plus stunned students. Not everyone who ran made it out of that room.

I can tell you about that first year after such a tragedy. The ensuing shock, horror and chaos eventually do settle down a bit. The rest of the world moves on and the news media chase other stories. The bereaved, however, are just beginning to fathom the real meaning of “permanence.” You keep yearning to get back to normal but there are constant reminders that “normal” is a thing of the past. There's an actual, physical pain and debilitating exhaustion that accompany grief. You have good days and bad days. 

But even on what you think is a good day, you can have something sneak up such as a song that comes on the radio, or seeing someone who looks like your loved one, or someone innocently asking how many kids you have, and you feel like you've been sucker-punched as tears spring into your eyes. Surviving the heartbreaking milestones of that first year may feel like you're getting something out of the way or putting it behind you, but every holiday, birthday and anniversary is still much the same for years number two, three, ten . . the only difference is that you know in subsequent years that you can get through it without it killing you.

That's the message I'd like to give the Newtown families: you can get through it. You never stop missing your child but you learn how to live with the pain. The pain becomes a part of you, but a far greater part of you is the love you have for your child. You grow stronger as you heal and are able to refocus on what's really important in life. You no longer sweat the small stuff. You just honor your child's memory and continue to love her every bit as much as you always have. You always will.

For this first anniversary of the Sandy Hook tragedy, by all means, remember the victims who died and their grieving families. But violence triggers a ripple effect that impacts entire communities. Please spare a thought for the survivors, the first responders and the Newtown community, as well. The survivors who were in that school experienced abject terror during the onslaught and have invisible scars indelibly marked upon their psyches. Their suffering is real and far from over. The first responders, those brave men and women, saw unimaginable carnage. I'm sure their hearts were already broken as they coaxed the survivors to come out of hiding, trying to reassure them it was all safe. 

The larger community no doubt also experienced shock, wondering how in the world such a horrific thing could happen in the beautiful place they called home. The unthinkable had not only happened, but it happened to their friends, their neighbors. And the sad truth is, the unthinkable can happen anywhere, even here. We ARE Newtown.

Newtown has chosen to honor the memories of their fallen with acts of kindness, and so should we all. Who knows? Maybe helping others is what will become the new normal. 

I can't think of a more fitting tribute.

Thank you, Mary Kay Mace. Hopefully, you'll consider contributing more essays and insights in the future.

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