Mother's Reckoning : Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy (9781101902769)

by Klebold, Sue; Solomon, Andrew (INT)

We sat in silence for a little while. Then I said, “Dyl, you’re scaring me. How can I be sure you’ll never do such a thing again?” He said he didn’t know, and seemed frightened to learn he could do something so bad on an impulse. He was obviously miserable. I felt no anger at that point, only compassion.

  Before we stood, I told him he had broken our trust. We would be watching him more closely, and his activities would be restricted. He complained it wasn’t fair for us to punish him on top of the Diversion program; weren’t the legal consequences enough? But his actions had left us no choice. I also said I thought he should see a professional counselor. He said he absolutely did not want to do that. When I told him we would seek help if it was in his best interest, he said definitively, “I do not need counseling. I’ll show you I don’t.”

  I was grateful Dylan could get on with his life without going to jail. Years after his death, though, I visited a secure treatment program for juvenile offenders, the type of place Dylan would likely have been sent to, and learned that what I had feared so much would almost certainly have been better for Dylan than returning to school, especially if the culture at Columbine High School was as toxic for him as we believe it was.

  The administrator told me, “We’re into saving kids, not punishing them.” He described the supports that would have been available to Dylan, such as professionals who specialized in dealing with mood disorders and PTSD, common in kids who have been bullied. The multidisciplinary team would almost certainly have diagnosed his depression, as well as any other brain health disorders he might have been living with. The staff worked closely with the offender’s parents. There was even a computer training facility there.

  We never know what lessons are in store for us, especially when our prayers are answered and events seem to turn out the way we want. At the time, we were grateful he’d qualified for Diversion. But I can’t help wondering if sending Dylan to a juvenile detention facility would have saved his life, and the lives of everyone he took with him.

  • • •

  It took two months for the Diversion program to begin. In the meantime, Tom and I worked together to tighten the reins at home. We created a curfew schedule, limited Dylan’s social activities, took away his computer keyboard, and restricted his driving privileges. We searched his room regularly, and told him he could not spend any free time with Eric. He was expected to spend time with us, and to be cooperative when he did. Work and his participation in plays at the school were constructive influences, and he would continue to be able to do those things.

  Dylan was relieved when the rules were spelled out for him, and accepted our conditions willingly, but it was still a difficult time. He seemed withdrawn, and was quick to anger when we made any demands on him.

  His relationship with the outside world didn’t seem to be much better. Roughly a week after the theft, Dylan got a job at a grocery store. He disliked the job itself and hated wearing a flowered shirt as part of his uniform. His attitude was terrible, and his time there ended quickly. Next, he got a speeding ticket. Not long after, he ran a red light on his way home from renting a video, and got a ticket from the same officer who’d questioned him on the night of his arrest.

  After the ticket, Tom and I warned him again that he needed to get his act together. Any more mistakes, and the consequences for his future could be positively disastrous. Felons can’t vote or serve on a jury; he’d be disenfranchised. And who would want to hire him?

  A month or so after the arrest, I called the Harrises to touch base. We all wanted what was best for our children, and I thought the two families should be in contact to coordinate the consequences we had meted out. Mrs. Harris and I talked about the advantages and disadvantages of keeping the two boys apart. She told me about Eric’s angry outbursts, and said they planned to find professional help for him immediately. I told her we were trying to determine whether Dylan needed to see a therapist or not.

  I felt strongly the boys should be separated, but Mrs. Harris did not want to remove the central friendship in her son’s life at a time of crisis. I understood, but felt Dylan needed some distance. We agreed to keep them apart for a while, at least.

  There were good times as well as bad. One night, Byron called after capriciously quitting another job. I was so discouraged with both of my sons, I did not know what to do. After Tom had gone to bed, Dylan sought me out. He listened carefully and quietly to my worries about Byron and made a few suggestions while supporting the way I’d handled the call. When I was done venting, he did his best to cheer me up. That night, I felt grateful he had not been sent to jail.

  During that interim period, he and a friend started a fantasy baseball league. The activity seemed wholesome and I liked the boy he started it with. Eric did not participate. Dylan also did the sound for a production of The Music Man, which we attended at the end of February. There’s nothing like a school play to make parents feel proud, and we certainly felt proud of Dylan that night.

  Still, we were relieved when the Diversion program finally started in March. During the intake process, Dylan was asked to select problems pertaining to him from a long list. Eric checked many of these, including anger, suicidal thoughts, and homicidal thoughts, but Dylan marked only two: finances and jobs.

  The intake included an extensive assessment of our family. I stated that Dylan sometimes seemed “angry or sullen” and his behaviors were at times “disrespectful and intolerant of others.” That certainly was my feeling about him that year, especially after the arrest. He never raised his voice, swore in our presence, or talked back, but I could hear disrespect in his voice sometimes when he talked about others. It was the worst thing, in my experience, that could be said about Dylan.

  Later, these comments would be seen as incontrovertible evidence that we ignored warning signs and set the stage for violence by tolerating belligerence. At the time, though, I was simply eager for the counselors to know the worst about him, so the experts handling his case would be able to help him if he needed it.

  When the counselors questioned Dylan, he admitted to using marijuana a couple of times. This surprised us, so Tom followed up with questions when we got home. Dylan didn’t want to say where he’d gotten the drugs, but eventually confessed that the pot had belonged to his brother. Tom confronted Byron, and warned him that if he brought illegal drugs onto our property again, he’d turn Byron over to the police himself.

  Juvenile records are usually sealed, but after the tragedy Dylan’s Diversion reports were released. They stated that Tom and I had “kicked” our older son out of the house for using drugs. That brought me up short. The decision for him to leave home had been Byron’s, made in consultation with a family counselor, and the move itself had been completely amicable. Plus, Byron was still very much in our lives after he moved out; we saw him for dinner at least once or twice a week. In the Diversion interview, Dylan said he loved his brother but that marijuana use was “a waste of time and money.”

  He claimed to have used alcohol “a couple of times,” although his journals would reveal he was self-medicating heavily. After he died, I learned that his nickname, on the Internet and among some of his friends, was VoDKa, the capitalized D and K a play on his initials.

  Dylan was upset to discover that Tom had confronted Byron about the pot, and Tom explained he’d do anything to keep his boys safe. After the tragedy, though, Tom blamed himself for Dylan’s secret life and worried he’d unwittingly damaged their relationship by violating Dylan’s trust. Had Dylan held back from telling us he was scared of Eric because he knew his father would talk to the Harrises? And of course Tom would have, if he’d had any inkling of the lethal dynamic between the two boys.

  • • •

  Years after the tragedy, I picked up a parenting magazine in a waiting room featuring an “ethical parenting” quiz. I got all ten questions “right” except for “Would you read your child’s private journal?” The correct answer, according to the parenting magazine, was “no.” I
know it would have been my answer too, when Dylan was alive, but it would not be my answer now.

  When we search our children’s rooms or read their journals, we risk that they will feel betrayed. However, they may be hiding problems they cannot manage by themselves.

  When Dylan was asked by the counselor to talk about his family relationship, he said it was “better than most kids’.” He said Tom and I were “supportive, loving, dependable and trustworthy.” In response to the question “What impact has this [arrest] had on your family?” Dylan answered, “A bad one. My parents were devastated as well as I.” And to the question “What have been the most traumatic experiences in your life?” Dylan responded, “The night I committed this crime.”

  After interviewing Dylan and our family, the writer of the treatment status report concluded, “Based on history, it does not appear treatment is indicated.” Despite this, when we finally met Dylan’s Diversion counselor in March of 1998, it was the first thing I asked: Did she think Dylan needed therapy? When Dylan joined us, she asked him if he thought he needed a therapist, and he said no. I was a little disappointed she didn’t give us more guidance—I already knew what Dylan thought. But Dylan kept assuring us he’d simply made a stupid mistake. “I’ll prove to you I do not need to see anyone.” We agreed to monitor the situation, and to change course if necessary.

  Diversion took up a lot of his time that year. Dylan was provided with counseling, anger management training, and an ethics class. He was required to participate in community service activities as well as making restitution payments to his victim, and he was tested for drug use on a regular basis. We felt the gravity of the punishment would help Dylan to understand the seriousness of his offense.

  Unfortunately, Dylan’s and Eric’s Diversion appointments were often scheduled together, and they saw each other at school. Though the boys did not talk about the arrest, their friends knew they were in serious trouble because their activities were so restricted. When Judy Brown heard Eric and Dylan were in trouble with the law, she assumed it was for the threats Eric had made against her son, Brooks.

  Eric had a website, filled with hate speech and violent imagery. He made specific threats against Brooks, going so far as to include the Browns’ telephone number and home address. I did not learn about Eric’s website until the afternoon of the attack on Columbine High School. But Dylan had known about it—and, the day before he and Eric were scheduled for their Diversion intake interviews, he’d told Brooks. In the hallway at school, he’d slipped Brooks a piece of paper with the web address on it, warning him not to tell Eric how he’d found out.

  This, to me, is striking—another one of Dylan’s attempts to extricate himself from the relationship with Eric, or at least to call attention to the severity of Eric’s disturbance. Everyone knew Brooks was close to his parents, particularly to his mother; Dylan had to assume Brooks would tell Judy about the site immediately. That is precisely what happened, and the Browns did go to the police. An investigator drew up an affidavit to search the Harris home, which was never shown to a judge. After Columbine, that paperwork disappeared.

  Not knowing about Eric’s website is a huge regret, and it emphasizes how important it is for parents to share information with one another, though the conversation might be uncomfortable. It’s understandable Judy didn’t come to me about the website: when the two boys were arrested, she believed the police had finally taken action. She had no idea Eric and Dylan had been arrested for a theft that had nothing to do with Eric’s threatening behavior—just as I had no idea Eric had threatened Brooks or anyone at all until the afternoon of the tragedy, when Judy Brown was standing in my driveway and fifteen people were lying dead in the school, countless others injured and traumatized.

  • • •

  The limitations we placed on Dylan after his arrest felt restrictive to him, and he was short-tempered with us. Since there had been no indication on the Diversion screening of any psychological problems, we tolerated his irritability and tried to keep him engaged in family activities as much as we could. As always with Dylan, there were enough good times to keep me hopeful. For all the unpleasantness and disagreements in those months, there were many times when we got along and enjoyed each other’s company.

  When Dylan asked me what I wanted for my birthday at the end of March, I said I’d like some time alone with him. He took me out for breakfast. I tried to get him to talk about himself, but Dylan answered my questions as briefly as possible, then asked me about my job and my life. He was so adept at listening that I did not see how skillfully he turned the focus of the conversation away from himself. Before our pancakes were cold, I was babbling about my artwork, my job, and my dreams for the future without recognizing how deftly he had shielded his inner life.

  By the close of Dylan’s junior year, things seemed to be getting back to normal. Dylan spent afternoons and evenings at rehearsal for a school production of Arsenic and Old Lace. We began to talk about his life after graduation. He felt burned out and didn’t want to go to college, but we encouraged him to think about it, and a few days later he agreed to come with us to the high school to look at college resources. Dylan was smart, but he hadn’t been truly motivated by what he was studying since he’d left the gifted program. I felt sure he’d flourish at college, with more freedom to discover and pursue his passions.

  On April 20, exactly one year before his death, he and Tom went to their first baseball game of the season. The following week, Tom and I went to see Arsenic and Old Lace. Dylan’s contribution to the performance was flawless. Though I cannot say he appeared completely happy, he seemed more balanced, as if he was trying to get past the mistakes he had made.

  That spring, we had the worst argument we ever had during his lifetime. It happened on Mother’s Day, the last Mother’s Day we had together, and it still hurts me to remember it.

  I can’t remember exactly what set me off. I was heartsick about the disastrous year I’d had with both my kids, angry about Dylan’s continuing negativity and bad attitude, and quietly hurt he had forgotten Mother’s Day. When I confronted him about his attitude, I had the feeling he was responding, not to me, but to some inner joke. It seemed disrespectful.

  Fed up, I got in his face. I shoved him against the fridge, pinning him there with my hand. Then I waved my finger and gave him a real mom lecture. I didn’t yell, but there was authority in my voice as I told him he had to stop being so crabby and selfish. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Dylan. It’s time for you to think about the other people in this family. You need to start carrying your weight.” Then I reminded him he had forgotten Mother’s Day.

  I dug my hand hard into his shoulder while I lectured. Until the day I die, I will never stop wishing that I had pulled him toward me instead of pushing him away.

  Finally, in a soft voice that carried warning power, he said, “Stop pushing me, Mom. I’m getting angry, and I don’t know how well I can control it.” That was all it took; this wasn’t my parenting style. Appalled that the conflict had progressed this far, I backed off. It was the worst confrontation we’d ever had, in seventeen years.

  Later, we sat together at the kitchen table. We both felt awful. I apologized for losing my temper. Dylan apologized for forgetting Mother’s Day, and volunteered to help me prepare dinner. That afternoon, he went out to buy me a card and an African violet planted in a tiny watering can. It was a perfect gift; I love miniatures, and we’d collected some together when he was little. We hugged. I thought it was okay, although I noted he’d only signed his name to the card, instead of saying “Love, Dylan.”

  Of course I wished we hadn’t fought, particularly on Mother’s Day, but I felt justified. Aren’t you supposed to confront your kids when you feel like they’re straying off the straight and narrow? I feel differently about that fight now. I know that hugging my son and telling him I loved him wouldn’t have stopped him from hurting himself and others. Still, I wish I had taken his hand. Sit down wit
h me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Instead of telling him everything he was doing wrong, or what he had to be grateful for, I wish I’d listened, and validated his pain. If I had to do it over again, I’d tell him, You’ve changed, and it’s scaring me.

  But I wasn’t scared. I should have been, but I was not.

  • • •

  I can now see there was a great deal to be concerned about in Dylan’s junior year.

  In the background, there was the worry of Tom’s illness, financial uncertainty, and friction between Tom and Byron and me. All these factors increase the risk of depression in the vulnerable. Dylan’s arrest and the bullying he was experiencing at school are both social factors associated with a higher risk of depression and suicidality. His increased irritability and an uncharacteristic lack of motivation were signs of depression, though these seemed well within the parameters of what a parent could expect from a teenage boy. He carefully hid his alcohol use—another risk factor—from us. Every time we felt truly concerned about him, he’d go out of his way to reassure us that everything was okay.

  So how does a concerned parent parse out the difference between garden-variety adolescent behavior (“He’s so lazy; he’s got such a crappy attitude; she’s such a drama queen”) from real indicators of depression or other types of brain illness? The crucial question raised by a story like mine is how to tell when actions or words indicate something worrisome.

  There is no fail-safe answer; in fact, these are some of the most troubling unresolved issues in the field of behavioral medicine. But Dr. Christine Moutier of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention teaches medical students and physicians to pay attention to changes: in sleep patterns, expressions of anxiety, shifts in mood or usual patterns of behavior, or in a teen’s “personality.” Taken individually, these may indicate nothing more than a stressful week, but a constellation of changes may signal a more serious problem. Junior year, Dylan went from being the kid I didn’t have to worry about to the kid I was worried about all the time. After sixteen years of no trouble at all, suddenly he was in conflict with the authorities at his school, with us, with other kids, and ultimately, with the law.