‘People want to help’: Canadians rally around Tumbler Ridge after school shooting | Tumbler Ridge school shooting

WWhen Jim Caruso heard the news of the school shooting in Tumbler Ridge, he immediately knew he had to be there. He packed his bags and boarded a plane for the community 700 miles away. “I wanted to be here to bring some comfort,” he said. “I wanted to hug people, pray for them and, above all, cry with them.”

On Tuesday, a shooter opened fire in the town’s secondary school. eight people killedmost of them young children. It was one of the deadliest attacks in Canada’s history and left the country reeling.

But it also sparked a wave of support for the British Columbia city from across the country Canadain the form of civic resources, grief and trauma counselors, therapy animals, food and donations. Hotels are fully booked, pushing new arrivals to towns more than an hour’s drive away.

Caruso, who retired four years ago, has worked as a paramedic, pastor and police chaplain — a career steeped in grief, tragedy and compassion that he says made him right for the moment.

“It’s hard, but I’m wired for this. I’ve spent my life with first responders. And so I know the police, firefighters, paramedics — they’re just devastated. They’re devastated,” he said. “But that’s how the people are here in Tumbler Ridge. And how they’re looked after now is so important.”

Police said on Friday that the shooter was, “for lack of a better term, on the hunt”. Armed with two rifles, “they were prepared and engaged anyone and everyone they could come into contact with.”

Investigators identified the suspect as Jesse Van Rootselaar. The police said Van Rootselaar is a transgender woman.

Prime Minister Mark Carney, who traveled to Tumbler Ridge with other federal party leaders in a show of national unity, praised the heroism of first responders and the courage of students and teachers trapped inside the school as the shooter stalked the halls.

“Standing here together in your home, we wanted you to hear that Canadians are with you and we will always be with you,” Carney said. “Whatever part of your grief that Canadians can bear to help you lighten your heavy load, we will gladly do it.”

Caruso said the grim details of the attack will add a layer to how counselors and support workers will help victims and the wider community navigate the unpredictable and turbulent nature of grief.

“It’s not like there was a car accident. It’s not like it’s a terminal illness. It was murder. Someone did it in cold blood. And as a result, something innocent was stolen,” he said. “I’ve learned over the years that life will go on. But it will also take a piece of you.”

Caruso and his wife intend to spend the next months in town helping residents to rebuild emotionally. “It’s hard not to ask what if I had been here earlier, if we could have been here to bring compassion,” he said. “But there is hope. It may not feel like there is for the parents who lost their children, or the victims who are gone. But there is hope for those who remain. That’s what funerals are about. It’s not for the person who’s gone. It’s for the people around you.”

Carney said at a vigil that Tumbler Ridge was defined by people who cared about each other. “You held each other – as you hold each other now. This is grace. This is what we do for each other; this is what we receive from each other,” he said. “Open hearts when the world falls apart.”

That the tragedy occurred in a community of less than 2,500 people means that first responders knew the victims and not a single person was untouched by the loss. In a part of the province known as the Peace Region, when the residents of Tumbler Ridge are hurt, the pain is felt deeply nearby.

“I just wanted to be part of the solution and do everything I could to help people,” said Milo MacDonald, the city manager of nearby Fort St John, who recently arrived in Tumbler Ridge with colleagues. “There are now an awful lot of people who want to help. They want to reduce suffering.”

Neighboring communities send large-scale resources and small gestures that have a big impact. MacDonald said lifeguards and skating technicians were dispatched from his community to ensure that places like the community pool and ice rink could remain open for children.

MacDonald, who has worked as a police officer for 25 years, including emergency relief in Tumbler Ridge, said he was devastated by the horror inflicted on a group of “genuinely good” people.

“I’ve experienced tragedies as a police officer, but never anything close to this magnitude,” he said. “And I’ll admit it’s incredibly difficult because my sons are a similar age. My hope is that these kinds of things make us focus on our humanity and our common ground. In moments like this, you need an affirmation of humanity.”

While the hordes of people arriving from outside the community have overwhelmed the town’s infrastructure, their presence is welcomed by residents.

Lynn Way, 82, who has lived in the town for more than three decades, said: “When I lost my son not too long ago, I just wanted to shut out the world. I just wanted to die. He didn’t want a service, but I had a gathering and people came from all over. People I didn’t even know. I knew then how much my son needed to come and it made it right for me. Now.”

Way said there was a “heaviness” in the air as she stepped outside, but Tumbler Ridge was still a safe town. “You can still leave your door open. That hasn’t changed. This town will get through it, but those poor people who lost their children and their loved ones, it’s going to take longer. It’s a fact of life. All we can do is just say, ‘Hey, if you need anything, I’m here for you.’

In recent days, a logo with mountain peaks and a red heart appeared with the words Tumbler Ridge Strong, a nod to the collective resilience needed in the town and a confidence that it exists within each resident.

“What feels so hard right now is that none of this is real,” Way said. “It won’t be real until the first funeral. Then you see the grief you never thought possible. When you lose someone close to you, it takes a year before you can really live with it. And you do. But you never forget. Ever.”