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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