“As I take in the serenity of this place that I love so much, there is a deep contradiction to my profound sadness. I loved walking through the front doors of a school. A safe sanctuary. The hustle and bustle…a community. Collectively, we need to send all the love possible to Tumbler Ridge in British Columbia.” – Lori Johnson

The Night Everything Shifted

Tuesday evening, February 10th.

The glow of the Olympics lingered softly in my living room. I reached for the remote, hoping to extend that feeling of unity and joy just a little longer. Instead, I was met with breaking national news.

Ian Hanomansing and his co-hosts were leading a special broadcast. The tone in their voices shifted quickly. A school shooting had taken place in a small northern community in British Columbia.

In an instant, joy dissolved into collective grief.

Across Canada, living rooms fell silent. I felt myself becoming part of a community united not by celebration, but by shock and sorrow.

The Weight of a School Tragedy

Details came slowly. One name. A number. A single devastating word.

Each update felt heavier than the last. I trust Ian Hanomansing’s sincerity and steady presence, yet I kept asking myself: Can this really be true?

Eventually, I turned off the television. My heart could not absorb any more.

As a parent, grandparent, and teacher for over forty years, this tragedy reached deep inside me.

I remembered the lockdown drills. The “Code Red” practices. In Canadian schools, a code red signals an immediate threat. Doors lock. Blinds drop. Lights switch off. Silence falls.

I can still hear the click of the door locking.

I can picture students pressing close together in a darkened corner. The quiet rustle of shoes. The effort to hold back tears. The responsibility of remaining calm while fear quietly hums in the room.

Sometimes students were unaware it was only a drill. Occasionally, even staff were not informed in advance. The fear felt real. Because it could be real.

Schools are meant to be sanctuaries. Places of safety, learning, and belonging. When violence enters that space, it shakes our foundation.

Mental Health and the Questions We Carry

When I learned more about the perpetrator, my sadness deepened.

Over the years, I have taught many students who struggled with mental health challenges. I remember one quiet student who lingered after class, finding comfort in a safe space. Our small conversations seemed to steady her during difficult days.

Pain in young people does not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it whispers.

While I cannot understand the choices that were made, I do understand this: when mental health support fails, suffering spreads far beyond one individual.

This tragedy is not about politics. It is not about identity debates. It must remain focused on the victims and their families.

It also calls us to reflect on the urgent need for stronger mental health support systems in our schools and communities.

If we are to prevent future tragedies, compassion and early intervention must become priorities.

Collective Grief and Community Healing

The grief from a school tragedy extends far beyond one building.

Families mourn children lost or injured. Student survivors carry trauma that may last a lifetime. Teachers and administrators stand in hallways offering steady voices while holding their own heartbreak.

I imagine a teacher sitting on the floor beside students wrapped in blankets. A principal holding a grieving parent at the entrance doors. Indigenous leaders, school officials, counselors, and support staff stepping forward with courage and compassion.

From afar, many of us wonder how to help.

Sometimes, the first step is empathy.

Choosing compassion over judgment.

Love over division.

Can Schools Feel Safe Again?

These questions echo across classrooms nationwide:

Can we learn from this tragedy?
Can we protect our children?
Can schools return to being places of joy and safety?

I believe they can.

Hope is fragile, but it is powerful.

Faith reminds us that even in darkness, light remains possible. Forgiveness, though difficult, prevents bitterness from taking root. Love binds communities together when fear threatens to divide us.

Holding on to Hope

I choose to imagine a different future.

Children laughing freely on a playground. Sunlight streaming through open classroom doors. A teacher greeting each student by name. Friends embracing at the start of a new school day.

That is the vision I hold close.

Schools as sanctuaries again.
Communities strengthened by compassion.
Mental health supported before crisis.
Children surrounded by safety, faith, and love.

Even in the shadow of tragedy, hope remains.

And it is hope that will guide us forward.