A year of grief for Parkland survivors
PARKLAND, Fla. — The name “Parkland” has become a shorthand for the tragedy that many hoped would mark the beginning of the end of school massacres.
But ask the survivors of the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in more quiet moments about the awful year since last Feb. 14 and they tell you a different, more personal story. About innocence lost. Dreams undone. Grief delayed.
There is the boy who took five bullets to protect his classmates. A hero, the headlines proclaimed. He wanted to be a professional soccer player. “Now I don’t do anything,” he said.
There is the young woman who tells people about her best friend, because if she calls him her boyfriend, it does not seem sufficient to convey what they were. Soul mate: That is what he had told her she was to him. Told
her before he died.
And there are the famous faces, who on a recent morning stood at a nearby elementary school where a local charity quietly unveiled a mural, the last of 17 community service projects created to honor each of the victims. David Hogg, the one who went on CNN and dared adults to act like one, lay on a basketball court and painted in a hibiscus flower. Emma González, the one who “called BS” on politicians who were not serious about gun control, crouched barefoot before the wall, cut out a paper stencil and sang along to the Beatles’ song, “Here Comes The Sun.”
To think of them, and of this upscale suburban high school, as mere symbols of tragedy ignores the complicated tapestry of sadness, fear and defiance that is now forever part of it — and will be long after the last of these students graduate.
In a series of interviews, members of the Stoneman Douglas community reflected on the past 12 months.
They did not want to relive that day. They did not want to argue about politics. They did not want to talk about the gunman’s pending trial for capital murder.
This is what they wanted to do: mourn.
These are their stories, in their own words. Anthony Borges, 16
The five bullet wounds he took as he barricaded a classroom door to protect other students have healed, remarkably. But his recovery is far from over. And the prospect of being asked to testify in court looms in the future.
I haven’t gone back to school because I haven’t seen a change. The security failed. They need to put in metal detectors. I am being home-schooled. But I would like to go to another school someday.
The best moment for me was when I was able to walk by myself. The doctor told me, “You can walk a little now, without crutches.” So one day I was home and thought, “OK, I can do this.” I stood up and started limping. I walked into a room and my grandpa and my grandma and my mom and dad were there, and they burst out crying.
I was proud of myself. I had thought maybe I wouldn’t walk again. But I went to physical therapy every day.
My life is not normal. I used to get out of school and go play soccer. All I wanted was to play soccer professionally. I played forward. Now I don’t do anything.
Today I gave a deposition in the criminal case. The defense attorneys asked me about the death penalty. I said I’m against it. I’ve always thought that, because that is a capital sin. I am not God to take someone’s life.
Anna Crean, 16
Now a sophomore, she was inside the freshman building where the shooting took place. Her lab partner, Alyssa Alhadeff, was killed. So were two of her creativewriting classmates. During the interview, loud squawks from birds flying overhead made her jumpy.
When I was in seventh grade, a teacher told us Parkland was a bubble. She said, “Someday, something bad’s going to happen here, and the bubble’s going to burst.” I remember I kept thinking about that afterward. Like, wow, she was right. I don’t feel safe anywhere anymore.
I have PTSD. The hardest part are sudden noises. Fourth of July, I was at camp, and I wasn’t expecting fireworks to go off, but they did. I had a panic attack. In school, a few freshmen have tried to pull pranks on us. They drop textbooks and film our reactions. We have monthly code-red drills. I’ve skipped probably three of them. It’s a constant reminder, every time, of the shooting.
The March for Our Lives in Washington was probably one of the coolest experiences of my life. I got to make a bunch of new friends. I wish I had never had those opportunities, though.
We’re not all loud activists. A lot of us want to go back and finish our high school career the best we can. For college, I want to go to Ireland, where my parents are from, because I just don’t want to do four more years of schooling here. I really don’t like how divided this country is. In Ireland, there’s no guns.
Tori Gonzalez, 18
She’s a senior whose boyfriend, Joaquin Oliver, known as Guac, was killed in the shooting, months before he was expected to graduate. She keeps the flowers Joaquin gave her last Valentine’s Day —his “last act of love,” she calls them — in a vase.
After graduation, I’m taking a gap year. I need a break. I am looking to volunteer abroad. I might go to Africa — I was supposed to go with Joaquin. I just want to get out of here for a while.
His best friend took me to prom. They totally ruined it: In the middle of the party, they played a slide show of the seniors who would have been there. You could see everyone fall to the ground and cry. That kind of scarred me. At the beginning of this school year, I didn’t talk to anyone. One time, this girl was just staring at me. Nobody knows what to say. It is so uncomfortable.
I’m going to sound really cheesy, but from the moment we met I knew I was going to spend my life with him. He was never my boyfriend. He said, “I hope you know you’re not my girlfriend. You’re my soul mate.” I know I’m just a kid and kids don’t know any better, but that was the purest form of love that there is. I’m so thankful that I had that, even if it was for such a short time.
Last year I was very sick at this time and Joaquin was like, “I really hope you feel better by Valentine’s Day.” That day was the first day I went back to school. I’m really glad that I saw him that morning. That morning was probably the best day that we had together.
Sarah Lerner, 38
An English and journalism teacher and yearbook adviser at Stoneman Douglas, she compiled stories from shooting survivors into a book. Two of her students, Jamie Guttenberg and Meadow Pollack, were killed.
I went to the cemetery on Sunday. The first place I went to was Meadow. I just got out of the car and I lost it. I was ugly crying. I apologized for what happened to her. I told Jamie that my daughter, Hannah, dedicates her competitive dances to her.
On Rosh Hashana I asked my rabbi if it would be OK to say Kaddish, the memorial prayer. I didn’t want to be disrespectful to those whose immediate family member had died. He’s like, “Of course it’s appropriate, Sarah. They meant so much to you.” It was just so awful, to say it for people who shouldn’t have gone so young and shouldn’t have gone that way.
I can’t see myself teaching anywhere else. I feel safe at school. But it’s going to be a very heavy few days.
On Thursday, I’m going to get a massage and get my nails done and have lunch with my brother and try not to watch the news. I just need to be.