MOX radio host Debbie Monterrey still hasn’t broken down and wept.
Since Monday morning, she’s fought back the avalanche of tears whenever they come too close to the surface.
Monterrey, one of my closest friends, was doing a live interview with a spokeswoman from the March of Dimes when Caeli, her daughter, started sending a barrage of frantic texts.
The first one popped up on her phone at 9:12 am.
“OMG THERE’S AN INTRUDER IN THE BUILDING,” Caeli, a senior at Collegiate School of Medicine and Bioscience texted.
Around 9 a.m. Monday, 19-year-old former student Orlando Harris entered the building armed with an AR-style rifle and 600 rounds of ammunition. The building houses the Central Visual and Performing Arts High School and Collegiate. Harris, who was killed in a shootout with the police, allegedly killed 10th-grader Alexzandria Bell, 15, and physical education teacher Jean Kuczka, 61. Seven other students were injured.
Monterrey, whom I know to be calm in crisis and eternally optimistic, thought it must be a drill or false alarm. Caeli kept texting — it’s not a drill. She could hear banging. Alarms are going off. Police and SWAT teams are coming.
“Now, I’m like, ‘oh my God, this is real,” Monterrey said.
“Are you scared? Are you safe? Where are you?” she texted back.
The interview guest paused, and Monterrey had no idea what she had said or if she was supposed to ask a question. Her co-host, Carol Daniel, wrapped up the interview.
Their colleague, Megan Lynch, ran into the studio and whispered to her, “I have breaking news. There’s a school shooting.”
“I know. It’s Caeli’s school,” she said.
Monterrey clarified the initial reports that cited a different school. “I’m going to hold it together by making sure we have the facts straight,” she thought. If she was explaining the facts on air, she wouldn’t break down and get hysterical. She focused on the story.
“If I can just hold onto the facts of this story and not let my emotions come out, I can hold it together,” she thought.
They had cut to commercial when Caeli texted her that she was out of the building. Daniels hugged her, and Monterrey shed a few tears.
From 9:12 am until about 9:30, she knew an active shooter was in her daughter’s school. Her boss had told her to leave whenever she needed, but she felt helpless until she knew she could get to her daughter. Monterrey stayed on air for 20 more minutes until Caeli texted her that she could come get her.
I understand that feeling of helpless horror. Monterrey texted me while she was still in the studio. There’s a sense of shock and denial at first.
“I’ve had to report on dozens and dozens of school shootings over the years, sadly. What are the odds of it happening at your kid’s school? I assumed it had to be a mistake. It couldn’t possibly be the real thing,” she said.
When she saw Caeli at home, they grabbed each other in the longest hug.
“I have not had a long, weepy cry. I won’t let myself go there,” she said.
But there are moments when tears resurface. Like when she caught a few minutes of a TV interview with Bell’s grieving father.
She had to look away.
Or when Caeli told her about how her principal Frederick Steele risked his own life during the shooting and ran through the hallways to make sure the classroom doors were shut and no students were in sight.
She got choked up — and pushed the anger, sadness and fear back again.
“I want to know why, as a nation, we allow this to keep happening. My daughter’s school did everything right with all their security precautions. Why did he have 600 rounds of ammo? Why is this OK?”
It’s the question thousands of traumatized survivors have asked over and over. School shootings plague America at a rate unlike any nation on earth. Americans are not more mentally unstable than people who live in any other country. But we do have exponentially more guns than any other place in the world.
“At what point will we admit that we could do something about it, but we, as a nation, have chosen not to?” Monterrey asked.
She’s worried about the lasting emotional impact surviving such a nightmare will leave on her daughter. Caeli doesn’t want to sleep at night. She hears gunfire. She saw blood on her classmates. Other students saw their slain classmate.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Monterrey said. “They don’t give you a manual on how to help your child when she’s been through a school shooting in America.”
Caeli’s school is closed indefinitely, for now. They will start virtual learning at some point. Her backpack, wallet and laptop are all still in the building.
When I called Monterrey, she was running errands, so her daughter would have the flowers and candles she needs for an upcoming vigil.
They are both putting on a brave face. But there’s tears lurking just below the surface.
Monterrey is worried about her daughter.
I’m worried about both of them.
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