THE FINAL SECONDS

by Fred Guttenberg

MY DAUGHTER, JAIME, was killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas (MSD) High School in Parkland, Florida, on February 14, 2018. What I remember of that day was the typical morning chaos: the kids bustling past my wife and me, a rushed breakfast, the dogs barking, trying to get ready for work myself. Still running late. But it’s what I can’t remember about that morning that haunts me. Did I tell my kids I loved them as they ran out the door? Did I stop to tell Jaime I loved her? Jesse, my son? It wasn’t supposed to be the last time. I sent two kids to school that day; only one of them came home.

The day after Jaime’s murder I attended a vigil in Parkland. I spoke at the mayor’s request. While I didn’t prepare, I had a lot I needed to say. I told the crowd at the vigil I felt broken. But I realized I wasn’t alone in my brokenness. I realized that people would help me heal. It’s the greatness of people that gives me the strength and inspiration to move forward.

Jaime was the strongest person I knew, and she fought for her life until the last second. She ran down the hall from an active shooter until a single gunshot ended her life. I don’t know if she died instantly or if she suffered, but I think about her final seconds every second of my life.

Grief doesn’t get easier. Even with time. I’m reminded every holiday, on Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, birthdays, and through the echo of dance recitals that Jaime isn’t here. But I’ve learned so much about myself since her death. I’m strong and resilient. And I learned the same is true for those affected by gun violence. I’ve seen communities come together before Congress fighting for change. I’ve seen networks of survivors comforting one another through grief. I’ve heard parents, siblings, and friends of the murdered share their stories over and over again. I’ve watched this current generation march to end gun violence. My life’s purpose and mission now is to fight to reduce gun violence in our country. To prevent this from happening to another parent’s child.

In this collection of stories, you will meet people like me: parents grieving their child. You will meet students who just made it, friends who survived, teachers who acted, and the families and communities who supported them. One thread holds these stories together: resilience. Since Jaime’s death, I have been welcomed into and surrounded by a community whose strength I could never have imagined. The resilience of this community can never be broken. We will continue to fight. We are parents. We are sons and daughters. We are students. We are teachers. We are friends. We are the change. And these are our stories.

Fred and Jaime Guttenberg. To donate in Jaime’s memory,
please visit orangeribbonsforjaime.org.