KFF Health News and KCUR are following the stories of people injured during the Feb. 14 mass shooting at the Kansas City Chiefs Super Bowl celebration. Listen to how children wounded that day are dealing with their injuries or emotional scars.
Six months after Gabriella Magers-Darger’s legs were burned by sparks from a ricocheted bullet at the Kansas City Chiefs Super Bowl parade in February, the 14-year-old is ready to leave the past behind.
She is dreading the pitfalls of being a high school freshman, even as she looks forward to being back with friends and at color guard, dance, and volleyball. She might even join the wrestling team to get some respect at school.
But the past remains ever present.
At a July Fourth gathering, a family friend brought noise-canceling headphones in case the fireworks became too much. Earlier in the summer Gabriella had a hard time viewing a relative’s gun collection, the handguns in particular. And she hyperventilated when she saw a family friend’s finger after it was sliced by accident — the sight of blood reminds her of seeing a fatally wounded Lisa Lopez-Galvan minutes after she was shot outside Union Station, the only person killed that day.
Her mom, Bridget Barton, said Gabriella has had a chip on her shoulder since the parade.
“She’s lost some softness to her, some gentleness to her,” Barton said.
Children are particularly vulnerable to the stresses of gun violence, and 10 of 24 people injured by bullets at the Feb. 14 parade were under 18 years old. Countless more children like Gabriella experienced the trauma firsthand. They’ve endured fear, anger, sleep problems, and hypersensitivity to crowds and noises.
A 15-year-old girl who was shot through the jaw and shoulder effectively dropped out of school for a time and daily panic attacks kept her from summer school, too. An 11-year-old boy shot in the side described feeling angry at school for reasons he couldn’t explain. A 5-year-old girl who was on her father’s shoulders when he was hit by gunfire panics each time her dad feels sick, fearing he has been shot again.
“She’s not the same kid. I mean, she’s definitely not,” said Erika Nelson, mother of the 15-year-old, Mireya, who has scars on her jaw and face. “You never know when she’s going to snap. You never know. You might say something or someone might bring up something that reminds her of that day.”
Guns overtook motor vehicle accidents as the leading cause of death for children in 2020, but a far higher number of kids are hit by gunfire and survive. Research suggests that kids sustain nonfatal firearm injuries anywhere from two to four times more often than they are killed by guns.
Scientists say the long-term effects of gun violence on kids are little researched and poorly understood. But the harm is pervasive. Harvard and Massachusetts General Hospital researchers found that during the first year after a firearm injury, child survivors experienced a 117% increase in pain disorders, a 68% increase in psychiatric disorders, and a 144% increase in substance use disorders. The mental health effects spill over — to mothers, fathers, siblings.
For many affected by the shooting in Kansas City, Missouri, the triggers began right away.
‘I Get Mad Easily’
Just 10 days after Samuel Arellano was shot at the parade, he attended another big sporting event.
Samuel was invited to attend a University of Kansas men’s basketball game at Allen Fieldhouse in Lawrence. During a break in the game, with a video camera pointed at Samuel and his parents, former KU star Jalen Wilson appeared on the scoreboard and addressed him directly.
“I heard about your story,” Wilson, who now plays in the NBA, said on the big screen. “I’m so very thankful that you are here today and it is a blessing that we can have you to give you the love and support you truly deserve.”
Wilson asked the 16,000 fans in attendance to stand and give Samuel a round of applause. As the crowd clapped and an announcer bellowed about him being a “brave young man,” Samuel looked at his parents, then down at his feet, smiling shyly.
But minutes later when the game resumed, Samuel started to cry and had to leave the auditorium with his mom, Abigail.
“When it got pretty loud, that’s when he started breaking up again,” his dad, Antonio, said. “So she had to step out with him for a minute. So any loud places, if it’s too loud, it’s affecting him.”
Samuel, who turned 11 in March, was shot in the ribs on his right side. The scar on his back is barely noticeable now, but lingering effects from the parade shooting are obvious. He is seeing a therapist — as is his father, though Abigail has had a tough time finding a Spanish-speaking one and still hasn’t had an appointment.
Samuel had trouble sleeping in the first weeks after the shooting and often crawled in bed with his mom and dad. He used to get good grades, but that became more difficult, Abigail said. His personality has changed, which sometimes has shown up at school.
“I get mad easily,” Samuel said. “I [have] never been like this before but like, if they tell me to sit down, I get mad. I don’t know why.”
Traumatized children often have difficulty expressing emotions and may be given to outbursts of anger, according to Michelle Johnson-Motoyama, a professor of social work at Ohio State University.
“I’m sure for that child there is a sense of tremendous injustice about what happened,” Johnson-Motoyama said.
Especially right after the shooting, Samuel had panic attacks, Antonio said, and he’d break out in a sweat. Therapists told them that was normal. But the parents also kept him off his phone for a while, as there was so much about the shooting on the news and online.
Abigail, who works at a car dealership with Antonio, is anxious about seeing her son change, his suffering and sadness. She is also concerned for her three daughters, a 16-year-old and 13-year-old twins. Her father, Victor Salas, who was with Samuel at the parade, was also reeling in its aftermath.
“I’m crying and crying and crying about what happened,” Salas said in Spanish four days after the parade. “Because it was chaos. It doesn’t mean that families don’t love their family, but everyone took off to save their own lives. I saved my grandchildren’s lives, but what happens to the rest of the people? We’re not prepared.”
On the good side, Samuel felt very supported by the community in Kansas City, Kansas. Many people from his school stopped by in the first few days to visit, including friends and even a former bus driver, who was in tears. He has a “room full of candy,” Abigail said, mostly Skittles, his favorite.
An autographed football from Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes arrived on his birthday. It made him cry, his father said, which happens pretty often.
“There are good and bad days, days that are more normal and easier, and then there are days where the family has to be a little bit more aware and supportive,” Abigail said in Spanish. “He’s always been outgoing and talkative like his mom, but that has changed since the parade.”
Fourth of July a Weeklong Trigger
The Fourth of July was particularly harrowing for many of the young survivors and their families. Should they buy fireworks? Will they want to celebrate? And why do all the firecrackers going off in the neighborhood sound like gunshots?
Fourteen-year-old Gabriella needed help from her stepfather, Jason Barton, to light her fireworks this year, something she is ordinarily enthusiastic about doing herself. At the parade, like many people, the Barton family initially mistook the sound of gunfire for fireworks.
And Erika Nelson, a single mom in Belton, Missouri, feared even bringing up the holiday with Mireya, who has always loved Independence Day. Eventually Mireya said she didn’t want any big fireworks this year and wanted only her mom to set theirs off.
“Just any little trigger — I mean, it could be a light crackle — and she just clenched,” Erika Nelson said.
Patty Davis, a program manager for trauma-informed care at Children’s Mercy hospital in Kansas City, said even her clients who were at the parade but were not injured still flinch at the sounds of sirens or other loud noises. It’s a powerful response to gun violence, she said.
“So not just an accidental trauma,” she said, “but a trauma that was perpetrated for violent purposes, which can cause an increased level of anxiety for persons around that to wonder if it’s going to happen again. And how safe are they?”
Reliving Getting Shot
Random sounds, bright lights, and crowds can catch the kids and their parents off guard. In June, Mireya Nelson was waiting for her older sister after a dance recital, hoping to see a boy she knew give a flower to a girl everyone said he had a crush on. Her mom wanted to go, but Mireya shushed her.
“Then all of a sudden, there was a loud boom,” Erika said. “She dropped low to the ground. And then she jumped back up. She goes, ‘Oh my God, I was getting shot again!’”
Mireya said it so loudly people were staring, so it was Erika’s turn to shush her and try to soothe her.
“I was like, ‘Mireya, it’s OK. You’re all right. They dropped a table. They’re just moving stuff out. It was an accident,’” Erika said.
It took a few minutes for the shock to wear off and Mireya later giggled about it, but Erika is always on watch.
Her daughter’s early sadness — she watched movies for hours, crying throughout — has since changed to a cheekiness. Half a year later, Mireya will joke about the shooting, which tears her mother up. But maybe that is part of the healing process, Erika says.
Before the Fourth of July, Mireya went to Worlds of Fun, a large amusement park, and had a good time. She felt OK because there were security guards everywhere. She also enjoyed a visit to the local FBI office with a friend who was with her the day of the shooting. But when someone suggested a trip to the ballet, Mireya squashed it quickly — it’s near Union Station, the site of the shooting. She doesn’t want to go downtown anymore.
Erika said the doctor appointments and financial strains have been a lot to juggle and that her biggest frustration as a parent is that she’s not able to fix things for her daughter.
“They have to go their own way, their own process of healing. I can’t shake her, like, ‘Get back to yourself,’” Erika said. “It could take months, years. Who knows? It could be the rest of her life. But I hope that she can overcome a little bit of it.”
Goose Bumps in the Sweltering Heat
James Lemons noticed a change in his 5-year-old daughter, Kensley, who was on his shoulders when he was shot at the parade. Before the shooting Kensley was outgoing and engaged, James said, but now she is withdrawn, like she has closed off her bubble and disconnected from people.
Large crowds and police officers remind Kensley of the parade. Both were present at a high school graduation the family attended this summer, prompting Kensley to ask repeatedly to leave. James took her to an empty football field, where, he said, she broke out in goose bumps and complained of being cold despite the sweltering heat.
Bedtime is a particular problem for the Lemons family. Kensley has been sleeping with her parents. Another child, 10-year-old Jaxson, has had bad dreams. One night, he dreamt that the shooter was coming near his dad and he tripped him, said Brandie Lemons, Jaxson’s stepmom.
Younger children like Kensley exposed to gun violence are more likely to develop post-traumatic stress disorder than older children, according to Ohio State’s Johnson-Motoyama.
Davis, of Children’s Mercy in Kansas City, said children whose brains are not fully developed can have a hard time sleeping and understanding that they are safe in their homes at night.
James got the family a new puppy — an American bulldog that already weighs 32 pounds — to help them feel protected.
“I looked up the pedigree,” he said, “They’re real protective. They’re real loving.”
Searching for an Outlet to Let Off Steam
Gabriella took up boxing after the shooting. Her mother, Bridget, said it restored some of her confidence and control that dimmed after the parade.
“I like beating people up — not in a mean way, I swear,” Gabriella said in April as she molded a mouthguard to her teeth before leaving for training.
She has since stopped boxing, however, so the money can instead go toward a trip to Puerto Rico with her Spanish class. They’re paying $153 a month for 21 months to cover the trip. Boxing classes were $60 a month.
Bridget thought boxing was a good outlet for leftover anger, but by the end of July Gabriella wasn’t sure if she still had the drive to fight back that way.
“The past is the past but we’re still gonna all, like, go through stuff. Does that make sense?” Gabriella asked.
“You’re mostly OK but you still have triggers. Is that what you mean?” her mother asked.
“Yeah,” she replied.
After the shooting, Mireya Nelson tried online classes, which didn’t work well. The first few days of summer school, Mireya had a panic attack every day in the car and her mother took her home.
Mireya wants to return to high school this fall, and Erika is wary.
“You know, if I do go back to school, there’s a chance at school of being shot, because most schools nowadays get shot up,” Erika recalled her daughter saying. “And I’m like, ‘Well, we can’t think like that. You never know what’s gonna happen.’”
This article was produced by KFF Health News, a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF — the independent source for health policy research, polling, and journalism.
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