From the get-go, my son Noah was a skeptical kid who took little at face value. When I would tell him, “There’s nothing you could ever do to change how much I love you,” he would take it as a challenge. “What if I robbed a bank? What if I punched Nathan in the face? Would you still love me?”
I assured him that I would.
Once he asked, “What if I ran away from home?” We’d recently read Where the Wild Things Are.
I told him, “I would be so sad if you left. But I would still love you.”
I don’t remember if my son ever asked, “What if I killed someone?” At that age, Noah probably couldn’t conceive of murder. But if he had asked, I would have said yes, never dreaming that someday he would put me to the test.
Someday came October 31, 2015.
On that Halloween Day ten years ago, Noah went on a shooting spree in Colorado Springs, Colorado, killing the first three people he encountered before being killed by police in a shootout. His victims, none of whom he’d met before, were Andrew Myers, 35, Jennifer Vasquez, 42, and Christina Galella-Baccus, 34. Each was a parent of two.
At the time, my son was 33 years old, and we lived in New York City, two time zones away. But in the critical days leading up to the shooting, my husband Dave and I were in almost daily contact with him, mainly through long texts because he kept hanging up on us. We knew by then that he was in a mental health crisis, undoubtedly triggered by his replacing prescription bipolar meds with large quantities of weed and a stimulant-like drug called modafinil, which he ordered from overseas.
Naturally, we were extremely concerned, and over the course of the next two weeks, we begged him to get help and tried our best to intervene. We took certain steps; we failed to take others. But in light of the tragic outcome, we will always live with sorrow and regret that we didn’t do more, and sooner.
Which leads directly to the mystery I want to address here: Why do even loving, well-intentioned parents so often miss the signs of a troubled young man’s slide toward violence?
The reasons are myriad, of course. But I propose that no small part of the problem is hiding in a single word.
Like many, whenever I heard about yet another soulless gunman murdering innocent people, I muttered to myself about monsters. You hear voices in the news and on social media doing the same. And who can blame us? What Noah did was, indeed, a monstrous thing. A heinous act that, in that moment, made Noah less than human.
But I’ve come to see that when we label perpetrators “monsters,” we unwittingly propagate a false picture of what a shooter looks like. And it’s the exceptionally rare mother (or other loved one) who is ever going to look at her troubled son and see an evil creature capable of senseless murder.
I certainly couldn’t.
Up until two weeks before the shooting, Noah was the antithesis of the guy you expect to go on a shooting rampage. Sure, he had struggled with alcohol before finally getting sober at 26. And at 27, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder (which runs in our family the way cancer does in some others). But he had never been in trouble with the law, had never hurt anyone, or threatened to. He had a great work ethic, cared about his health and fitness, had plenty of friends, and—best of all—was extremely close with his family.
It was enough to convince us and those around him, probably including his coworkers, that despite his marked, even disturbing changes in behavior and mood, he was not at risk of unleashing violence.
In a painful bit of irony, it’s not a stretch to say that in the lead-up to the shooting, Noah’s general good-guy reputation was the most dangerous thing about him.
If only he’d looked more like a monster.
In their book, The Violence Project, Jillian Peterson and James Densley write about interviewing the childhood girlfriend of one of the worst mass murderers in history. They describe her as teary-eyed as she said, “When you label them monsters, you erase the ability for anyone to think someone in their life could do this.”
This is why I take risks to humanize Noah. As the mother of a shooter who failed to see danger coming, it’s a message I want to spread. Before any of these shooters ever picked up a gun, they looked like our fathers, our brothers, and our sons.
~~
Hi, Heather!
I am just now reading this email. I was cleaning up my email and discovered this one I had forgotten. I had written you once before, when I was newly sober and had finished ‘Sober Boots.’ You have such a way with the pen. You were very kind and replied.
I just felt the need to drop you a line and say thank you. For your honesty, vulnerability, and communicating very difficult information. I will be getting a copy of The Violence Project…..
‘Knowing’ you (as much as a fan can know an author) before the shooting, helped me to humanize (as did this email) the shooter, Noah. I remember when I realized he was your Noah, and my heart broke.
Again, thank you for your transparency.
Peace,
Rhonda
There’s so much painfully-gotten insight here, Heather. Thank you for pushing beyond grief, and helping others to better understand one of the most brutal realities of our world.
THAT was hard to write! You’ve had such a journey. God bless you.
Sam
Your transparency and vulnerability really touches me as a writer. God calls me to write about the hard things in life, and it can be a challenge that I want to avoid. But in the end many are helped through our honesty and baring our souls and messy lives. Thanks for encouraging me again. You are a writer about whom I’ve said, “I want to write more like her.” You have often been in my thoughts and prayers over these ten years. God bless you on this journey.
I want to acknowledge that this was extremely difficult for you to write, and commend you for what you are doing in educating others. I’ve missed your blog and thought of you often over the past decade. Thank you for what you have to share..
I’ve missed my blog, too. I keep hoping someday I will have the time and ability to keep it going again in some form. I’ve learned not to promise much, though. I have this wonderful problem of having a lot of family and grands nearby, and of having a day job, too. Thanks so much for your comment.
Thank you for sharing this information.
Heather, bless you for being so brave and insightful. This will help people. Please keep writing! Love you–Holly
Holly Holly? Oh geez, friend. It’s been years and years, hasn’t it? It’s so kind of you to leave this comment. Gonna go see if I can find you! I’d love to know how you are.
Dear Heather. I Stole God From Goody Two Shoes was a favorite book of mine and I was so moved by I Went to the Animal Fair. I’ve been following you for years and was so heartbroken to hear about Noah.
This article shows your bravery and willingness to allow the suffering you’ve experienced be a help to others.
I don’t know if you have ever read anything by Father Greg Boyle. After decades of working with gang members he believes he has never met an evil human being. He tells us that people who do awful things are not healthy but that doesn’t make them evil or, I would add, monsters.
May you know God’s peace.
Marci
Marci, this went straight to my heart. I can’t believe you go back with my so far! Wow, how the years pass, and life does not unfold as we thought it would. Thank you so much for your kindness and for taking the time to write this.
Thank you!
Your voice is so important in this moment. Society (all of us) needs to hear the sounds of your heart, even after it has been ripped apart; maybe even as it is being torn apart–it is in your voice that Noah’s humanity is returned.
Most families of shooters understandably slip into self-imposed exile; hiding from the vulgar fascinations of an insensitive public, who see themselves as self-appointed “monster” hunters. Unfortunately, the families take with them the pictures of their loved one when they were two, and 12, and the Christmas just before.
Bryan Stevenson’s quote haunts me in this regard: “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
Thank you for your courage to engage on such a difficult and painful issue. The world needs your voice. We need your family. We need the rest of Noah or we will never understand who our own children are, or are becoming.
You were closest to the terror of that moment, and you are the messengers needed for so many families who are right now agonizing about what to do with their own loved one.
I truly believe you are saving lives.
jeff lilley
Jeff, I’m going to print this out and put it somewhere I can see it. It meant so much to me. Thank you, thank you.
Heather —
You and I corresponded long ago, and we had a very kind exchange. I reached out to you when this all first happened, and I can understand why you did not reply. Reading what you’ve written here, it sounds like there has been so much more to think about, experience, and process.
What you’ve shared here, I think, is very important. Thank you. And please know that I have always kept a spot in my heart for you. I “knew” you before, my heart made space for you when Noah did what he did, and I’m glad to know you now.
I think you are very special. And I wanted you to know that.
Warmly — ~Lisa
Lisa, wow. So great to hear from you. And your words! I loved this note so much. Thanks for reaching out after the tragedy. And now, too! I hope we’ll keep in touch!
Thank you, Heather, for sharing your journey. I followed you for several years before this tragedy and have thought of you through the years and wondered how you were doing. I know this will help many people. God bless you and your family.
Thanks for your kind comment. I really appreciate you taking the time.
Heather, thank you for sharing your heart in such a beautiful and transparent way. When you first shared about this tragedy, my heart went out to you and it helped me to not look at mass shooters as monsters. They could be any of our sons. Thanks for sharing this info that will hopefully help prevent another shooting.
Thanks for your meaningful comment. Means so much to hear that.
Heather, I have been following your writings for years. In 2011, my grandson died by a self inflicted gunshot. Thank you for your research and supplying parents and those of us who can use it, this type of information.
I’m so sorry for your loss. How heartbreaking. I appreciate you following my writing. It’s been so very sporadic since the tragedy. I hope to write here more.
This must have been very difficult to write. Even with red flag laws it seems these paranoid and delusional people have guns or are able to keep their guns. Thank you for your insight.
Yes, it was hard to write. We actually wrote a whole book, from which this article is in some parts drawn. I agree about the red flag laws; wish they worked better. Colorado didn’t have one when Noah committed his shooting. But now they do, thank God.
This must have been a gut wrenching article to write. Thank you for your bravery and for sharing.
It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years since that horrible day. Lifting you both (and Nathan) up during this season.
Your comment shows up as Anonymous. Thanks for lifting us up.
Dear Heather,
Thank you so much for sharing in this way. It has and maybe will continue to be a hard journey for you. I do remember you from time to time. May you know our Father’s comforting presence day by day.
Every blessing and many thanks,
Esther
Sent from Outlook for Androidhttps://aka.ms/AAb9ysg
Thanks so much for this comment. Means a lot and I take it in.
beautifully written, real, transparent.