Reflections on Thoughts Surrounding the Violent Death of My Coach

It’s funny how much can change in a few moments of time. What happened on a hot summer’s evening on Labor Day, 2018, shook my world and opened my eyes to a universe I did not know existed. Let me tell you about it, and how it transformed me.

I have never been an athletic person. Leaning towards the arts and other creative enterprises, I dabbled in sports as a kid, and made attempts at gym memberships as an adult to keep fit, but never stuck with anything for long. After having our 3 children, I found it hard to make time for exercise and didn’t think much about it, other than staying active with the kids and their outdoor activities. Fast forward to homeschooling teens. I joined a Crossfit gym with my kids to enable them to fulfill a PE requirement. I discovered I loved getting in shape, feeling strong, and more importantly, enjoyed my new athletic life without any back pain. I was hooked! If you know anything about Crossfit, it’s crazy hard!! Our coach Mary was gentle and encouraging, she was patient with my questions and whining in the beginning, but kept pushing me a little more and a little more. She knew what I could do when I didn’t believe it. I swelled with pride as my kids developed confidence and worked hard to get ‘ripped’, and with Mary’s guidance, we achieved a pretty amazing transformation. Even my parents noticed it. We learned to suffer through hard things and learned that time and perseverance work to achieve big goals. Behind it, our amazing coach was guiding and cheering our journey. The family atmosphere and bonds with our coach and other Crossfit ‘gym bros’ was tight, we sweated and suffered through workouts together, encouraged each other not to quit, and celebrated our finishes. It was my ‘happy place,’ and coach Mary was at the very center of our successes. My family grew to love Mary very much.

Then the absolute unthinkable happened. We knew our coach was going through some marriage troubles and had separated from her husband. We also knew she had started a recent relationship with a local gym owner. Her husband, who was a well-liked CHP officer, one of the ‘good guys’ who protect us from harm, shot and killed her during an argument and attempted murder of her new boyfriend. He then turned the gun on himself. He used his service weapon, a weapon put into his hands to protect us from ‘bad people,’ to end her life.

I went through the predictable stages of grief. First denial, then pain and guilt, followed by anger and depression. I’ve experienced the death of a family member due to illness, but this was a very different kind of death. I had a hard time getting a handle on why it was so different. I think it was the violent and illogical nature of her death, none of it made any sense, and there was no warning it was coming. It was completely preventable, and could have easily been avoided or thwarted, or de-escalated. But it wasn’t. I learned that honest, wonderful people can snap. The boyfriend survived, but the husband and wife who now have 4 orphaned children did not. I became aware of the sinking possibility that a loved one could be taken away violently at any moment, for any random or unfathomable reason. I wrestled with angry thoughts that God could have prevented or stopped it, why did He not choose to do so? I think my struggles could be called PTSD, and I realized that scores of people of all social classes and economic levels share a similar kind of excruciating pain. I thought of all the mentally ill ‘shooters’ who stalk every state and country and rob others of their loved ones, spreading this pain. I was unaware of this new world, and now understood in my small little way, some of the unbearable, invisible burdens people carry.

It’s a secret world I would never choose to join. Some combat vets are there, and some refugees too. I have come to accept it and have made attempts to tell my loved ones how much I love and appreciate them. I hold more loosely to material things and have a tender heart when hearing of the newest shooting or tragedy. I’ve started volunteering with an organization working with Afghan refugee children in my community. Change can be horribly traumatic, but change can bring about a positive transformation, and that is what happened to me.