Ripples
of Columbine - suicide, heartbreak, hope
LITTLETON, Colo. (AP) - Sean Graves knows
exactly how he will mark the fifth anniversary
of the Columbine High massacre: He will
rise early, slip out of the home he shares
with his mother and brother, and head to
the school before the crowds.
He
will find the spot where he was shot four
times and paralyzed from the waist down
by Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. He'll
look down at the grass where he lay injured
and rubbed blood on his face to make the
killers think he was dead in case they came
back.
He
will put a cigar on the ground where his
friend, Daniel Rohrbough, died just a few
feet away.
''Watching
my friend die is still traumatic, but it
is in the past,'' said the soft-spoken Graves,
now 20. ''I'm not trying to be mean. I just
have to focus on today and looking at the
positive and the future.''
The
attack remains the deadliest school shooting
in U.S. history. Harris and Klebold killed
a teacher and 12 of their classmates - two
outside of the suburban Denver school and
10 more huddled under tables and chairs
- before they committed suicide on April
20, 1999.
More
than 20 students were wounded, including
Graves and two others who were partially
paralyzed.
There
are dozens of survivors. Some have healed
in private, graduating from Columbine and
quietly moving on to college or careers.
The struggles of others, including one survivor
who lost a mother to suicide and a family
plunged into financial crisis, have played
out in public.
Graves
spent two years in grueling rehabilitation
and hasn't used a wheelchair since he graduated
from Columbine in 2002. He said the power
of prayer will allow him to walk away from
his private memorial on Tuesday.
His
mother is trying to heal her own emotional
scars.
''We
had to first heal our kids and families,''
Natalie Graves said. ''We had to be strong
for everyone. Our time to break down had
to wait.''
Natalie
Graves, who survived breast cancer seven
years before the shooting, said she repressed
her anger with Klebold and Harris until
her son was well on his way to recovery.
''Those
two got five years of my life and they won't
get a minute longer,'' she said.
Mother
and son harbor no anger toward the parents
of the killers. Graves only knew Harris
and Klebold in passing, vague members of
the self-described ''Trench Coat Mafia.''
''I
truthfully think those two were the masters
of deception,'' Natalie Graves said. ''They
took great pride in fooling everyone, including
their parents. I would not want to be in
those parents' shoes. They have to live
their lives every day knowing what those
two did.''
Other
survivors avoid talking publicly about Columbine.
Lance Kirklin, a sophomore who was shot
near Graves, became a father last year.
Anne Marie Hochhalter, who remains paralyzed,
attended college and lives in suburban Denver.
Her father, Ted, widowed after the shooting
when his wife committed suicide, has remarried.
Mark
Taylor, hit by more than a dozen bullets
and with one still lodged near his heart,
struggled to finish school and find work.
His father left the family in 2001 after
34 years of marriage, telling his wife he
couldn't handle the stress of what their
son was going through. The family turned
to the Salvation Army for help during one
bleak Christmas.
Krista
Flannigan, a victims' consultant who worked
with Columbine and Oklahoma City bombing
survivors, said some of the wounded became
identified with the shootings.
''As
time goes by it is a part of who they are,
but it does not define who they are any
longer,'' Flannigan said. ''Now some of
the students identify themselves as college
students and they may, or may not, mention
they also survived the Columbine shooting.''
Graves'
girlfriend, Kara Dehart, was attracted to
his sense of humor and tendency to pull
pranks on friends. She was hesitant to ask
about the shooting.
''At
first I was scared to ask him about it,''
she said. ''I knew, because my cousin went
to Columbine. We just started talking about
it one night and it really hasn't come up
since.''
Dehart
has seen Graves' scrapbook, compiled after
the shooting, that includes autographed
photographs of him with President Clinton
and singer Shania Twain. She's also coaxed
him back onto a golf course, something he
hadn't done since before the shooting.
Some
survivors and their relatives will need
much more time to recover.
''At
the fifth anniversary of the Oklahoma City
bombing, some of those affected had remarried
and had children,'' Flannigan said. ''Some
had moved on to new careers. But others
were still struggling with illness or emotional
scars.''
Some
families who rally during tragedy can fall
apart. Natalie Graves and her husband, Randy,
who both work at Lockheed Martin, divorced
nearly two years ago.
''We
had issues before Columbine,'' she said.
''Columbine probably helped us stay together
for a little longer.''
Her
son doesn't relish talking about Columbine,
but feels a responsibility as an eyewitness
to the bloodshed.
''I
never think about why it happened,'' he
said. ''It was just straight and simple
evil - just evil.''
Harris
and Klebold were armed with assault rifles,
a sawed off shotgun and handguns when they
began killing students outside school about
11 a.m. Rachel Scott was the first to die.
Richard Castaldo, eating lunch, was shot
and paralyzed.
The
killers ambushed Graves, Rohrbough and Kirklin
as the three walked outside the school cafeteria.
Graves tried to run back inside but was
hit again by a gunshot that knocked him
to the ground.
He
watched in horror as Klebold returned, shot
Kirklin in the face and then pulled the
trigger on the shot that killed Rohrbough.
Klebold stepped on Graves before walking
back into the school.
Graves
knew that Rohrbough, his friend since seventh
grade, was dead because the body was so
still.
School
videos released after the massacre showed
the killers laughing as they gunned down
their terrified classmates. They said ''peek-a-boo''
to students cowering under tables and made
comments about Isaiah Shoels' brains spilling
out from the shotgun blast that killed him.
Graves
said he had nightmares about being shot
before the massacre.
''Deep
in my heart, I knew this was meant to happen,''
he said. ''I used to have nightmares of
being paralyzed.''
Waiting
for paramedics to rescue him, Graves listened
to bombs rigged by the killers going off
in the school. He couldn't move his legs.
''I
knew right then, that my worst nightmare
had come true,'' he said.
The
nightmares have vanished since the shooting.
''To
me, that's a sign that it's over. It happened
but now it's over,'' he said.
Graves
at times resisted rehabilitation, but kept
at it, going to class during the day and
undergoing intensive therapy. He graduated
on schedule, using a crutch to walk across
the stage to get his diploma - an act his
mother said was ''thumbing his nose at the
two who paralyzed him.''
Graves
now takes computer classes at a community
college and likes to solve puzzles, including
repairing vehicles. A hunter, he worries
the memories of the victims, including his
good friend Rohrbough, have been overshadowed
by the ''blame game'' and an outcry over
guns.
''People
don't know that Dan had a great sense of
humor,'' he said.
Graves
said his only disappointment since the shooting
was lagging behind in his college credits.
He wants a degree to make his parents proud.
His
mother takes a deep breath and sighs when
told of his wish, then says: ''I'm proud
of him just because he is alive and breathing.
I'm proud of him all of the time.''
Natalie
Graves wasn't aware of her son's early morning
memorials on earlier Columbine anniversaries.
''Then
one year, I looked down where Danny had
been shot and I saw a cigar,'' she said.
''I knew Sean had left it for him. Danny
used to tell us that when he turned 16 he
wanted to smoke a cigar. He didn't live
to see that birthday.''
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