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http://news.nationalpost.com/2014/0...er-to-alleged-moncton-shooter-justin-bourque/
More than three years ago, Katie Brewster and her husband were looking to lay down roots in a safe city. They chose Moncton — a city known for its low crime rate and friendly people. So when Ms. Brewster found herself trapped in her house, unable to sleep with helicopters whirring overhead and questions buzzing in her mind, she felt a lot of things: Anger. Frustration. Fear. After putting her nine-month old son down for a nap Thursday, the high school teacher sat down and wrote this open letter. It’s since been shared on Facebook nearly 10,000 times, hailed for eloquently conveying what many Monctonians went through during the terrifying lockdown, and articulating the cocktail of emotions that will take days to settle. “I never expected this letter to reach the audience it has,” she told the National Post‘s Sarah Boesveld Friday.
“An open letter to Justin Bourque:
First of all, I believe that you are angry, and you are hurting. Anyone who does something like this must be deeply damaged, and that makes me sad for you and your family. I realize there is no way you will ever have the chance to read this, but I don’t know what else to do. You see, I am angry, and I am hurting, too. I am on lockdown in my house and glued to the tv — and I am watching the streets of my neighbourhood being broadcasted live.
These are the same streets that I travel every day. I take them to go to work; I take them to run last minute errands at the drugstore. This is more than hitting close to home – this IS my home. I feel safe when I walk these streets with my baby boy strapped in his stroller, and safe on them when I run on them alone. Or at least I felt safe, until last night. I actually stepped out my front door for a run in the sunshine last night at about 7:30, minutes after it is reported that the first calls regarding your presence in the woods at Hildegarde were made. For some reason, I took a different path, and thereby avoided a meeting with you, because the route I often take would have put me on a direct collision course with you and the destruction you were about to cause. I had a great run. I felt good. And then, just as I was nearing the end of my run and closing in on my street, I saw a police SUV speeding by me, lights flashing, sirens screaming. I saw a car, pulled over. The driver was standing by his open door, his hands holding his head as if he didn’t know what to do and needed to figure things out. I saw people running from a few directions.
I still didn’t realize what was happening until a man, driving by, pulled over, motioned me over to his car, and told me, “You probably shouldn’t go this way. There is a man, with a rifle strapped to his back, on the loose. He is shooting at police.” All I could say was “Thank you,” and I turned around. I wasn’t three minutes in the opposite direction when another car, this time with a woman, a worried young boy, and a dog in the backseat stopped me again and said “You probably shouldn’t go this way…. There is a man, shooting at police, and he is at large. You need to go home.” I was frozen. “I’m trying to go home… but now I don’t know how to get there.” She must have thought I was nuts. I ended up calling a friend who lives in an apartment nearby. I was so panicked that the first time I called, my headphones were still in my phone from listening to music while on my run and she thought I had dialed her by mistake. The second time I called, I said “I’m coming up to your building. Please let me in. There’s a man with a gun and I can’t get home.” I was running as I was talking. I’m sure I sounded hysterical. I stayed there for two hours, until reports indicated that you had moved to a different area of the city, and I got a drive home.
When I got home, I kissed my husband, I kissed my baby boy, I took a bath, and I started watching the news. I couldn’t sleep – all I could hear was the searching helicopter out my back window. I was in shock. I was scared. I was sad.
I’m still all of those things. But now – now I’m also angry.
I am angry that you have ruined lives. I’m angry that you shot, and killed, three RCMP officers,as well as injured two others, who were trying to protect the rest of us from your actions. I’m angry thinking about the families of those officers and the grief they must be feeling.
I am angry about the disregard you have shown to your own family – after all, it is your poor family who will have to pick up the pieces you leave behind.
I am angry that you were so failed by something in your life, or at least felt that you were, that you thought this plan to be worth undertaking. I am only making an assumption, but something, somewhere, must have made you feel so terrible, so worthless, that this plan became logical in your mind.
I am angry that I am at home this morning, still scared, with my blinds closed, listening to the search choppers overhead.
But I am most angry that you have attempted to take the safety of my home from me.
I have seen the photos of the police vehicles, windows shot out and blood on the ground, set on the street that I walk on to take my beautiful nine month old son to the park.
I have seen the streets of my neighbourhood, blockaded, with a heavy police and tactical team presence, broadcasted on national TV.
I am angry that you were so failed by something in your life, or at least felt that you were, that you thought this plan to be worth undertaking
I am angry, much like you. However, unlike you, my anger will not lead to darkness.
In fact, in my anger, I can feel the flickering flame of hope. Though you have hurt many through your actions, though you have caused terror, when you are caught, I will walk on these streets again and I will feel safe. I will take my baby boy to the park. I will run, proudly and strongly, on the trails. You cannot take the safety of my streets and my home from me. The people who stopped on the side of the road to make sure I knew what was happening and that I needed to get home demonstrated that there is concern for others in this world.
My friend’s fiancé, who drove me home and made sure I walked safely to my door, showed me that there is kindness in this world.
Kissing my sleeping son illustrated there is innocence in the world.
The people all over the world who are thinking of and praying for the families of those who were killed or injured, the people of Moncton, and yes, you and your family, reveal the compassion present in the world.
You have caused terror. You have caused anger. You have caused sorrow. You have caused darkness in my city and in my neighbourhood. But you will not cause me to stop feeling safe at home, and you will certainly not stop me from feeling concern, or kindness, or innocence, or compassion. It is as Martin Luther King, Jr. stated:
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
And so, I will continue to sit in my house, with the blinds closed and the choppers circling, and wait. The darkness you have caused is temporary. It is only a matter of time until I will be able to open the blinds and let the light in again.”
More than three years ago, Katie Brewster and her husband were looking to lay down roots in a safe city. They chose Moncton — a city known for its low crime rate and friendly people. So when Ms. Brewster found herself trapped in her house, unable to sleep with helicopters whirring overhead and questions buzzing in her mind, she felt a lot of things: Anger. Frustration. Fear. After putting her nine-month old son down for a nap Thursday, the high school teacher sat down and wrote this open letter. It’s since been shared on Facebook nearly 10,000 times, hailed for eloquently conveying what many Monctonians went through during the terrifying lockdown, and articulating the cocktail of emotions that will take days to settle. “I never expected this letter to reach the audience it has,” she told the National Post‘s Sarah Boesveld Friday.
“An open letter to Justin Bourque:
First of all, I believe that you are angry, and you are hurting. Anyone who does something like this must be deeply damaged, and that makes me sad for you and your family. I realize there is no way you will ever have the chance to read this, but I don’t know what else to do. You see, I am angry, and I am hurting, too. I am on lockdown in my house and glued to the tv — and I am watching the streets of my neighbourhood being broadcasted live.
These are the same streets that I travel every day. I take them to go to work; I take them to run last minute errands at the drugstore. This is more than hitting close to home – this IS my home. I feel safe when I walk these streets with my baby boy strapped in his stroller, and safe on them when I run on them alone. Or at least I felt safe, until last night. I actually stepped out my front door for a run in the sunshine last night at about 7:30, minutes after it is reported that the first calls regarding your presence in the woods at Hildegarde were made. For some reason, I took a different path, and thereby avoided a meeting with you, because the route I often take would have put me on a direct collision course with you and the destruction you were about to cause. I had a great run. I felt good. And then, just as I was nearing the end of my run and closing in on my street, I saw a police SUV speeding by me, lights flashing, sirens screaming. I saw a car, pulled over. The driver was standing by his open door, his hands holding his head as if he didn’t know what to do and needed to figure things out. I saw people running from a few directions.
I still didn’t realize what was happening until a man, driving by, pulled over, motioned me over to his car, and told me, “You probably shouldn’t go this way. There is a man, with a rifle strapped to his back, on the loose. He is shooting at police.” All I could say was “Thank you,” and I turned around. I wasn’t three minutes in the opposite direction when another car, this time with a woman, a worried young boy, and a dog in the backseat stopped me again and said “You probably shouldn’t go this way…. There is a man, shooting at police, and he is at large. You need to go home.” I was frozen. “I’m trying to go home… but now I don’t know how to get there.” She must have thought I was nuts. I ended up calling a friend who lives in an apartment nearby. I was so panicked that the first time I called, my headphones were still in my phone from listening to music while on my run and she thought I had dialed her by mistake. The second time I called, I said “I’m coming up to your building. Please let me in. There’s a man with a gun and I can’t get home.” I was running as I was talking. I’m sure I sounded hysterical. I stayed there for two hours, until reports indicated that you had moved to a different area of the city, and I got a drive home.
When I got home, I kissed my husband, I kissed my baby boy, I took a bath, and I started watching the news. I couldn’t sleep – all I could hear was the searching helicopter out my back window. I was in shock. I was scared. I was sad.
I’m still all of those things. But now – now I’m also angry.
I am angry that you have ruined lives. I’m angry that you shot, and killed, three RCMP officers,as well as injured two others, who were trying to protect the rest of us from your actions. I’m angry thinking about the families of those officers and the grief they must be feeling.
I am angry about the disregard you have shown to your own family – after all, it is your poor family who will have to pick up the pieces you leave behind.
I am angry that you were so failed by something in your life, or at least felt that you were, that you thought this plan to be worth undertaking. I am only making an assumption, but something, somewhere, must have made you feel so terrible, so worthless, that this plan became logical in your mind.
I am angry that I am at home this morning, still scared, with my blinds closed, listening to the search choppers overhead.
But I am most angry that you have attempted to take the safety of my home from me.
I have seen the photos of the police vehicles, windows shot out and blood on the ground, set on the street that I walk on to take my beautiful nine month old son to the park.
I have seen the streets of my neighbourhood, blockaded, with a heavy police and tactical team presence, broadcasted on national TV.
I am angry that you were so failed by something in your life, or at least felt that you were, that you thought this plan to be worth undertaking
I am angry, much like you. However, unlike you, my anger will not lead to darkness.
In fact, in my anger, I can feel the flickering flame of hope. Though you have hurt many through your actions, though you have caused terror, when you are caught, I will walk on these streets again and I will feel safe. I will take my baby boy to the park. I will run, proudly and strongly, on the trails. You cannot take the safety of my streets and my home from me. The people who stopped on the side of the road to make sure I knew what was happening and that I needed to get home demonstrated that there is concern for others in this world.
My friend’s fiancé, who drove me home and made sure I walked safely to my door, showed me that there is kindness in this world.
Kissing my sleeping son illustrated there is innocence in the world.
The people all over the world who are thinking of and praying for the families of those who were killed or injured, the people of Moncton, and yes, you and your family, reveal the compassion present in the world.
You have caused terror. You have caused anger. You have caused sorrow. You have caused darkness in my city and in my neighbourhood. But you will not cause me to stop feeling safe at home, and you will certainly not stop me from feeling concern, or kindness, or innocence, or compassion. It is as Martin Luther King, Jr. stated:
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
And so, I will continue to sit in my house, with the blinds closed and the choppers circling, and wait. The darkness you have caused is temporary. It is only a matter of time until I will be able to open the blinds and let the light in again.”
