Lauren Rousseau dreamed of being a teacher
On her first day in a new classroom at Sandy Hook School, she was killed
Life was full of promise for Lauren Gabrielle Rousseau. After earning her master’s degree and working three jobs, in October 2012 she got a full-time position with Newtown Public Schools as a substitute teacher.
The 30-year-old was later assigned to a class of first-graders at Sandy Hook Elementary and she was so excited to get the chance to teach, her mother, Teresa Bomgardner Rousseau remembers. Her first day with the class was Friday, Dec. 14, 2012 and, after work, Lauren had planned to go see “The Hobbit” with her boyfriend, Tony Lusardi III. She had even made cupcakes — adorned with yellow frosting, gold glitter and plastic rings each holding a picture of a different character from the movie — to enjoy at a party afterward.
But Lauren never returned home.
She was among six educators and 20 first-graders killed by a gunman that morning. She was working in Classroom 8 with the help of behavioral therapist Rachel D’Avino, 29, who also was killed.
Ten years later, the family still grieves for Lauren Rousseau and is forever stung by the cruel way she died.
“It kind of rips your dreams apart,” said Terri Rousseau, a copy editor and page designer for Hearst Connecticut Media.
It took her a few years not to cry when mentioning her daughter’s name.
“That’s gotten a lot better,” she said.
The cupcakes sat in Terri Rousseau’s freezer for years. She still has some Christmas cookies Lauren Rousseau bought for a party and a box in the basement filled with dozens of letters about her daughter. Called the “Lauren Archive,” the letters recount a smiling barista, a helpful wedding coordinator and a woman who worked hard to achieve her dreams.
Genial and dedicated
Growing up, Lauren Rousseau was an irrepressible explosion of fun, her mom remembers. Born in Danbury Hospital on June 8, 1982 to Terri and Gilles Rousseau, she was feisty, caring and social. As a student at Hayestown Avenue School, and later Roberts Avenue School, Lauren Rousseau often befriended new classmates.
“She was a favorite of a few of her teachers, but she was noisy,” Terri Rousseau laughed.
Bill Leukhardt, Terri Rousseau’s husband, met his stepdaughter when she was about 9 or 10 years old. While Terri Rousseau worked at night, Leukhardt and Lauren would play card games, cook various cuisine — French, Moroccan or sometimes Italian — and watch “Jeopardy” together.
“She was just fun to be with,” he said.
Lauren knew before entering kindergarten that she wanted to be a teacher. She lectured her dolls in the bathtub and used a chalkboard in the family’s kitchen to play teacher. She was further inspired by her own fourth- and fifth-grade teacher.
She took dance lessons for most of her childhood — from age 5 to 17 — and showcased her ballet and tap skills at annual dance recitals. She also played soccer for years.
While a student at Danbury High School, she sang in the chorus for three musicals, relishing in the months of rehearsal they required, while being a member of the yearbook committee and the National Honor Society.
Lauren Rousseau also taught at Little Hatters Learning Center. For more than 30 years, the high school-based program has offered day care to infants, toddlers and pre-schoolers while giving students interested in working with children hands-on experience. She talked about her dreams of becoming a teacher often with her stepmother, Joyce Rousseau, who was a teacher at Danbury High School.
After high school, Lauren Rousseau earned a degree in English and psychology from the University of Connecticut in 2004 and later a master’s degree in elementary education from the University of Bridgeport.
In December 2012, she juggled three jobs. She worked her way up from catering as a college student to becoming a bridal consultant at Fox Hill Inn in Brookfield, worked part-time as a barista at a nearby Starbucks and, just weeks before she was killed, was hired as a full-time substitute teacher.
Despite being so busy, Terri Rousseau remembers her daughter really liked the work and customers remember she was always smiling.
“She didn’t complain about it, she just always had great stories to tell,” Terri Rousseau added.
Lauren Rousseau was always cheerful. She had a contagious smile and a loving, kind heart.
“I never saw her frown. Ever,” one person said at her funeral. “I honestly don’t think she was capable of frowning.”
In her free time, Lauren Rousseau went with her friends to shows in New York and, afterward, got autographs from the actors. She enjoyed movies and, when she came home, would recite all of the funny lines, her mom said.
Lauren Rousseau was known as a loyal and dedicated friend. For one friend from college, she helped her get an internship with one of her customers from Starbucks. Lauren Rousseau, her mother and stepfather welcomed the friend into their home for about a month while she worked at the Danburybased internship and, though she didn’t have to, Lauren Rousseau voluntarily woke up early every morning to cook pancakes or French toast.
She was also a thoughtful sister to her two younger brothers, Matthew
and Andrew Rousseau. Matthew Rousseau, now 37, admits he and Lauren were pretty different, but she always made the effort to bond with him over things he enjoyed. She listened to his music and, when he took the train to visit from Brooklyn or elsewhere, she let him drive her Honda Civic around town while they ran errands or grabbed a bite to eat.
“She was willing to do anything if it meant spending time with me,” he said.
On Nov. 8, 2011, Lauren had her first date with Tony Lusardi III. The two fell in love and dated for 13 months. He called her “busy bee” while she called him “worker bee.”
Both Terri Rousseau and Leukhardt thought the couple was on track to get engaged, married and have children.
“Who knows what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been murdered,” Leukhardt said.
The lost week
Terri Rousseau finds some comfort that she was able to spend some time with her daughter the night before she died.
The two were at their Danbury home; neither had to work that night, which was a rarity, remembers Terri Rousseau, who took a week off work from her job as a copy editor at The News-Times to prepare for Christmas.
On Dec. 13, 2012, Terri Rousseau went to the nursery to pick out a tree that was to Lauren’s standards. It had to be large, so large the angel on top barely cleared the living room ceiling, just like every other Christmas, Terri Rousseau wrote in an essay a year after her daughter’s death.
Later that night, they did the dishes together, something Terri Rousseau did dozens of times with her sisters growing up. Terri Rousseau washed, and her daughter dried.
“It wasn’t something we did that often, Lauren and I, so it was special even though it was mundane,” Rousseau said.
Later in the night, Terri Rousseau went to Lauren’s bedroom to say goodnight. She sat on the side of her daughter’s bed while they talked. The two usually watched “Project Runway” together, and Lauren Rousseau said she hadn’t seen who’d won that night. Terri Rousseau assured her the episode had been recorded and she could find out anytime.
Having to go wrap some presents, Terri Rousseau kissed Lauren on the side of her head.
“And that was the last I ever saw her,” Terri Rousseau said.
The morning of the shooting, Leukhardt, a journalist with The Hartford Courant at the time, was sent to the school. He stood with a crowd of reporters trying to find out what had happened. The information was sparse, but once it was discovered he had a personal connection, he was sent home.
Leukhardt returned to Terri Rousseau and the two waited with friends, family and Lusardi for news. As the sun went down and the hours ticked by, they knew their chances that Lauren Rousseau had survived were slim, but they still clung to hope.
It wasn’t until 1 a.m. that they received confirmation that Lauren Rousseau was among the dead.
“At first, we were numb,” Terri Rousseau recalled. She and Leukhardt call it the “lost week;” everything was a blur.
After the tragedy, numerous TV stations and newspapers called the family; Terri Rousseau said she was kept busy by the interviews, as well as a lot of meetings and activities. Friends and family brought food, answered the phone and helped out around the house.
“We just wandered around stung,” Leukhardt said.
An overflowing crowd filed into the First Congregation Church in Danbury on Dec. 20, 2012 for Lauren’s memorial service.
At Christmas, the nearly 10foot-tall tree towered in their living room, lights aglow and surrounded by funeral flowers. The family decided not to decorate the tree with ornaments that year.
The family found some gifts in Lauren’s room. Some were wrapped, but absent of names, so they opened the packages to try and figure out who they were supposed to go to.
The necklace she picked out for her mother was an oval-shaped pendant of antique China bordered in silver. Terri Rousseau wears it on special occasions.
‘A death like this changes a family in many ways, none of them good’
Lauren would have turned 40 this past June. Instead, on a rainy day in October, about 60 of her family and friends buried her ashes in a serene area overlooking a river. Her family plans for that to be their final resting place, too.
“It’s ironic that someone who loved life as much as Lauren did should have her life cut so short,” Terri Rousseau said.
Shortly after her daughter died, Terri Rousseau tried to find small ways to still connect with her. She used Lauren’s address book and, since they also shared the same sizes, wore her clothes and shoes.
She took care of Lauren’s beloved cat, Laila, until the cat died. Terri Rousseau remembers weeping in the veterinarian’s office when she found out the cat was sick because she was such a connection to her daughter.
Lauren Rousseau’s family is still trying to figure out life without her.
“A death like this changes a family in many ways, none of them good,” Terri Rousseau said. Her daughter had been the glue that held her kids together, their childhood home filled with beautiful photos showing the three siblings growing up through the years.
“Now there’s just two boys,” Terri Rousseau said of the photos. “The pictures make me so sad because they used to be such a source of happiness.”
A number of people in Lauren Rousseau’s immediate and extended family suffer anxiety because of her death. Recent mass shootings sometimes make Terri Rousseau decide against attending events where there will be a lot of people. The family has sought help from mental health professionals to cope.
Matthew Rousseau, one of Lauren Rousseau’s younger brothers, described his grief as a slow process. Occasionally, things pop up that may remind him of his sister or the day she was killed like in April when a man opened fire on a crowded subway train in Brooklyn, wounding 10 by gunfire.
“I take that subway; it could have been me,” Matthew Rousseau said. “It just feels like gun violence is inescapable.”
Shortly after his sister’s death, Matthew Rousseau said he lobbied for gun safety laws. He and his family were disgusted by how easy it was to access the same machine that killed Lauren. He wanted to change that and potentially save families from experiencing the same heartache.
Terri Rousseau thought there might be a change but then discovered that people had run out to buy more firearms when they were afraid of potentially stricter laws.
“It was like a body blow,” she said.
Leukhardt noted that Lauren had two cousins that served in the Army overseas. They were deployed to Iraq, Kosovo and Afghanistan.
“They came back reasonably unscathed,” he said. “Lauren goes to teach first grade and got slaughtered by a military-style, size weapon.”
Matthew Rousseau quickly grew weary of trying to solve the gun violence crisis. It was a tough issue and he found it difficult to speak to people so insistent about owning powerful firearms.
“It just kind of grossed me out, so I decided not to focus on it too much,” he said, and shifted his attention toward his own grief and mental health.
A few years later, he decided to switch careers. After his sister’s death, he was less inclined to go through the struggle of a musician. The services her killer needed partly influenced the jazz drummer to become an occupational therapist.
“He was obviously suffering a lot, and so I wanted to focus on relieving suffering of people in any way I could,” Matthew Rousseau said.
The tragedy did bring Lauren’s family closer to her boyfriend’s family. They all try to visit often and usually spend Dec. 14 together.
Before Lauren’s death, Terri Rousseau had dealt with several crippling losses. She doesn’t consider herself a lucky person, and always expected a negative outcome even if the chance was small.
Because of this, she never asked “Why me?” after Sandy Hook. It was just a coincidence her daughter was substituting for that class that morning. She still wonders of all the elementary schools in the United States why tragedy had fallen upon her daughter’s particular classroom.
“I was just so glad that I had 30 years with her,” she said. “It was just a wonderful experience.”