Like mothers all over Littleton, I had been praying for my son's safety. But when I heard the newscaster pronounce twenty-five people dead, my prayers changed. If Dylan was involved in hurting or killing other people, he had to be stopped. As a mother, this was the most difficult prayer I had ever spoken in the silence of my thoughts, but in that instant I knew the greatest mercy I could pray for was not my son's safety, but for his death.After sixteen years of silence, Sue Klebold – mother of Columbine shooter Dylan Klebold – has written A Mother's Reckoning; a book that recounts her son's childhood, the details of the day of the shooting, and her family's journey in the aftermath of the tragedy. While it might come off as slightly defensive and self-serving at times (you only need to read the comments sections of newspaper reviews of this book to appreciate the level of hatred that this woman has had to bear; after all, you must be a monster to have raised a monster), but Klebold has a very important message that she's trying to share: having missed or misread the signs that her son was spiralling into depression, she had lost the opportunity to get him help, and perhaps, prevent the Columbine massacre. To the extent that this book might provide vital information to another parent – and because the author profits are being donated to suicide prevention and mental health charities – I think that it's an important read, despite its shortcomings.
One of the thousands of letters that the Klebolds received in the months following Columbine said: “HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW??!” And that's probably the scariest part: They didn't know what their son was capable of, and with the information they had, they likely couldn't have known. Dylan was their “Golden Boy”, always bright and smiling, with a bunch of good friends and big plans for the future. The family ate dinner and watched old movies together; Dylan and his brother had been well-supervised (even in high school, Dylan wasn't allowed to hang out with new kids until the Klebolds had met them and their parents); the Klebolds were anti-gun and wouldn't allow them in the house; the boys had had strict limits on sugar cereals and television: this wasn't hands-off parenting. In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, Sue Klebold had been convinced that her son couldn't have been a willing participant: he must have been drugged or coerced or he had been present but not a shooter or it was all some prank gone horribly wrong.
Six months later, her denial was shattered: the police called the Klebolds in and shared what they had learned. Step-by-step, they were told which shooter killed or injured each victim, and when they were done, the investigator showed them the so-called “Basement Tapes”; in which Dylan and Eric had filmed themselves using horrible language and racial slurs, posturing with their weapons, and making clear their intentions to kill as many people as possible. Seeing her son's avid participation in these tapes was the first time that Sue Klebold truly understood that Dylan had been living a double life. It took another two years before the police shared with the Klebolds what they referred to as Dylan's journal (although it was just random pieces of writing assembled from various notebooks and loose sheets of paper found in Dylan's room and school), and it was only then that the family began to find some answers from Dylan's own hand:
Thinking of suicide gives me hope that i’ll be in my place wherever i go after this life – that ill finally not be at war w. myself, the world, the universe – my mind, body, everywhere, everything at PEACE – me – my soul (existence).Most of Dylan's writing was despair over the unrequited love he felt for a girl – whom the Klebolds had never heard of – and his wish for suicide to make the pain of heartbreak go away. They eventually also saw Eric Harris' journal – in which he described fantasies of brutal rape and murder – and after sending all this writing off to various psychiatrists, the best diagnosis they could get was that Eric was likely a homicidal psychopath (so intent on killing others that he was indifferent to his own death in the act) and Dylan was a suicidal depressive (so intent on killing himself that he was indifferent to the deaths of others in the act). Ultimately, it took the two of these brain illnesses (to use Sue Klebold's preferred term), working together, to put each of their fantasies into action. But should the Klebolds have seen it coming?
Of course hindsight is 20/20, but the last year of Dylan's life sure sounds like a kid spinning out of control: two school suspensions, a felony arrest for theft, plummeting grades, disturbing writing flagged by his English teacher. On the other hand, he held down a part-time job, helped around the house, was accepted into his first choice college and went on an excited campus visit there, was released early from a program for young offenders, and rented a tux and attended his school prom three days before the tragedy: this doesn't sound like someone who was ready to die; who, with bombs that thankfully failed, had been plotting to kill hundreds of others along with himself. Because of the Columbine school shooting, there are now safe school initiatives that would hopefully put these red flags all together and prompt an intervention, but at the time, it's hard to accuse the Klebolds of willful ignorance.
The information that only Sue Klebold could share in this book was quite interesting, and I should note that she was mindful not to include anything graphic that might inspire the next school shooter (it is of everlasting sorrow to her that so many shooters since Columbine have claimed her son as a hero). It is also valuable in that Klebold includes much of the research she has gathered over the past sixteen years about suicide prevention and brain illness. On the other hand, A Mother's Reckoning isn't a perfect reading experience – much felt defensive or glossed over (there is an especial void in information about Dylan's co-shooter Eric, and Robyn; the girl who accompanied Dylan to prom and bought the guns for the pair). I couldn't help but wonder about this book's effect on the families of the shooters' victims: no matter how many times Sue repeated that not a day goes by without her thinking of and mourning those victims, that doesn't quite make me want to accept an equivalence between her loss and their's; no matter how uncompassionate that makes me: To the rest of the world, Dylan was a monster; but I had lost my child. But it's not quite the same, is it? I think maybe this book would have been better if Sue had put her story in the hands of a journalist: someone who could stand back and add some context where needed or make unbiased commentary where necessary. Overall, the faults don't diminish this book's important message and the four stars reflect this importance:
There is perhaps no harder truth for a parent to bear, but it is one that no parent on earth knows better than I do, and it is this: love is not enough. My love for Dylan, though infinite, did not keep Dylan safe, nor did it save the thirteen people killed at Columbine High School, or the many others injured and traumatized. I missed subtle signs of psychological deterioration that, had I noticed, might have made a difference for Dylan and his victims – all the difference in the world. By telling my story as faithfully as possible, even when it is unflattering to me, I hope to shine a light that will help other parents see past the faces their children present, so that they can get them help if it is needed.
For a couple of different perspectives, this is a very gentle treatment of Sue Kebold by Diane Sawyer on 20/20, and this is an excoriating review on Salon's website that sees racial bias in any attempt to redeem the memory of a white killer.
