- I survived.
And I'm forever the survivor of a school shooting.
On April 20, 1999, I was a 17 year old Junior
in a high school in the suburbs of Denver called Columbine.
I was in my fifth hour choir class
when we started to hear popping sounds from a distance.
We didn't think it was anything.
But in a matter of a few minutes,
students were running down the hallway
outside our classroom.
One student came in and told us there were shooters.
At that point, most of the students ran out
of the classroom, but some of us,
including myself, stayed where we were,
unsure of what to do.
As the sound of gunfire and explosions
drew closer and closer,
eventually, about 40 of us barricaded ourselves
into a small teacher's office.
We didn't know exactly what was happening
but, most of us assumed we were in the final
moments of our lives.
And so in this tiny, cramped, hot room,
some students began to call family members
to say goodbye.
And we held each other, and we waited
for nearly three hours.
Eventually the SWAT team came
and helped us evacuate.
Our path of escape took us within a few feet
of some of our recently fallen classmates.
And the trauma of the moment hit like a flood.
We were safe, but so many others were not.
Two fellow classmates had shot and killed
12 students and a teacher, injuring many more
before, ultimately, taking their own lives.
I survived.
And I'm forever the survivor of a school shooting.
That doesn't leave you, that stays with you.
And initially, I was a person who felt
this deep sense of responsibility to take action.
I shared my story, a lot.
I talked about the legacy of my friends
who died that day, I gave tons of media interviews.
I found a lot of healing in many of those moments.
But at times, the sense of mission
or providing answers, was less than productive.
I think about my fellow survivors that day,
and how a similar trauma can affect people so differently.
I have guilt around the fact that I don't deal
with the anxiety or PTSD-like symptoms
that many of my friends have dealt with for years,
even to this day.
So for me sharing my story was something empowering,
but for many survivors, it wasn't.
At times you wanna avoid that part of your story,
that hurts the most, but you really can't.
And so being the survivor of a school shooting
has affected my whole life.
In the years since, I've often sat with people
in the midst of their own trauma,
and I'm able to be uniquely present
in those moments, because of what I experienced
at Columbine.
Professionally, I work on community based issues
and human rights challenges, and I know my decision
to do that is rooted in my experience
at Columbine that day.
Being a survivor lives with me
as I navigate parenthood, as the father of four kids.
The oldest of whom started high school this year.
And so parenthood is this active trust
so many times already, but being a survivor
can press that to new levels.
So there are mornings when I drop off
my son at high school and I say, Elijah I love you,
I'll see you tonight, and I know he can't possibly
understand the scenarios that run through my mind
as he walks away.
I've been recently struck watching survivors
of new school shootings as they emerge
and share their raw stories.
I ask myself, how is this still happening?
And what more could we have done?
You look at their faces and you see yourself in them.
You know how much they have in front of them
and you wish there was someone that could tell them
there's someone who understands how you feel,
because we do.
I had a friend recently remind me that as human beings
we are meaning makers and meaning seekers.
Almost 20 years after I survived the shootings
at Columbine High School, I'm still wrestling
with making meaning out of this part of my story.
But more than anything, I'm simply grateful
to have that chance.