Jessica Gorman stood outside her family home in Yorktown Heights, New York, on a crisp Monday afternoon in late March 2026, her voice steady yet laced with the kind of raw pain that no parent should ever have to convey. Flanked by relatives and shielded from the glare of cameras by a small cluster of neighbors, she looked directly into the lenses and delivered a message that has since echoed across the country: “We are gonna get justice for Sheridan.” The words hung in the air, simple and fierce, as tears welled in her eyes. “We have a voice and it’s gonna be heard,” she continued. “We are beyond shattered.”

Those three short sentences, spoken just days after her 18-year-old daughter Sheridan Grace Gorman was gunned down on a Chicago pier, have become a rallying cry for a grieving family determined not to let their daughter’s death fade into another statistic or political sound bite. Jessica Gorman refused to utter the name of the accused killer, 25-year-old Jose Medina, choosing instead to focus every ounce of her remaining strength on honoring the vibrant life that was stolen far too soon. In exclusive conversations with reporters and in heartfelt statements shared with the New York Post, she painted a portrait of a mother whose world had been torn apart, yet who refused to be silenced. “It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest,” she confided in one moment of candor, her voice cracking as she described the void left behind. This is the story of a mother’s unyielding vow, a family’s quiet resolve, and the final hours of a young woman whose only crime was wanting to chase the Northern Lights with friends on an ordinary college night.

Sheridan Gorman had arrived at Loyola University Chicago in August 2025 with the kind of wide-eyed optimism that defines every freshman’s first semester. Born and raised in Yorktown Heights, she was the eldest of two children, a high-school standout who excelled both on the bowling lanes and in the classroom. Friends from back home remember her as the girl who organized charity tournaments, baked cookies for neighbors during the holidays, and always had a kind word for anyone feeling down. At Loyola, she quickly made a tight-knit circle of friends, joined the campus Cru Christian fellowship, and threw herself into business classes with the same enthusiasm she once brought to weekend family outings. Her dorm room was decorated with photos of her little brother, handwritten notes of encouragement, and a small whiteboard where she scribbled daily goals. Life, to Sheridan, was something to be lived fully and shared generously.

On the night of March 19 into March 20, that spirit of adventure led her and three close friends to the Tobey Prinz Beach pier, less than a mile from campus. The weather app had hinted at faint Northern Lights activity over Lake Michigan, and Sheridan, ever the planner, had sent a group text around 12:45 a.m.: “Northern Lights might be visible tonight. Pier? Skyline pics? Who’s in?” The friends—Alex, Jordan, and Taylor—agreed instantly. They bundled up against the cold and walked the familiar path along the Loyola campus, laughing about spring break plans and Sheridan’s stories of missing her little brother back home. “She kept saying how she wanted to take him bowling again when she came home for Easter,” one friend later recalled. “She was smiling the whole way. That smile never left her face until the very end.”

They reached the pier shortly after 1:10 a.m. The Chicago skyline glittered across the water, and a faint green haze danced low on the horizon. Sheridan led the group single file along the narrow wooden planks, phone in hand, capturing the moment. They paused near the lighthouse at the end, leaning on the railing, joking about whether the lights were real or just their imaginations running wild. Then, in an instant, everything changed. Sheridan froze. “Guys… there’s someone there,” she whispered urgently. “There’s a man hiding behind the lighthouse. He’s wearing all black and a mask. We need to go—now!” Her voice, clear and protective, cut through the night air.

The figure emerged slowly, dressed in dark clothing from head to toe, face obscured. According to the friends’ detailed police statements, he did not charge at them immediately. For a heartbeat or two, he stood visible. Then, as the four students turned to run, he shouted a single, guttural command: “Get the hell out of here!” One gunshot followed. The bullet struck Sheridan in the upper back, exited through her neck, and she collapsed onto the pier. Her friends screamed her name, pressing hands to the wound, calling 911 in panic. Paramedics arrived within minutes, but Sheridan was pronounced dead at the scene at 1:47 a.m. The entire encounter had lasted less than a minute. There had been no argument, no robbery, no prior confrontation—only a young woman spotting danger and trying to shield her friends.

Jessica Gorman learned of the nightmare in the early hours of March 20 when her phone rang with the kind of call every parent dreads. In the days that followed, she and her husband moved through a fog of grief while making arrangements to bring their daughter home. By March 23, standing outside the family home in Yorktown Heights, Jessica found the strength to speak publicly for the first time. She did not dwell on the accused shooter, whose immigration status and prior minor criminal record had already sparked national debate. Instead, she turned the focus squarely on Sheridan. “We are really focusing this week specifically on burying our daughter,” she explained. “We are honoring her life.” The family had chosen silence on the suspect not out of indifference, but out of a deliberate decision to protect what remained of their daughter’s memory from becoming fuel for political arguments.

In quieter moments shared with reporters, Jessica described the visceral pain of losing a child. “It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest,” she said, her eyes distant as she recalled Sheridan’s last texts to the family group chat—a selfie from orientation week captioned “Living my best college life ❤️.” She spoke of the empty chair at the dinner table, the unopened summer internship acceptance letter still sitting on Sheridan’s desk, and the little brother who asks every night why his big sister isn’t coming home. Yet amid the devastation, Jessica’s resolve shone through. “We have a voice and it’s gonna be heard,” she repeated, her tone shifting from grief to determination. “We are gonna get justice for Sheridan.”

That vow has become the family’s guiding light. They have coordinated with law enforcement agencies, accepted an escort for Sheridan’s body back to New York, and expressed gratitude to the Yorktown Police Department and the many officers who showed compassion during the transfer. “What could have been an unbearable journey was carried out with dignity, honor, and profound respect,” Jessica noted in a joint family statement. Neighbors in Yorktown Heights have rallied around them, dropping off meals, flowers, and offers of help with daily tasks. A GoFundMe for a memorial scholarship in Sheridan’s name has already raised tens of thousands of dollars, with donors describing the teen as “the girl who lit up every room.”

The friends who survived that night on the pier have also stepped forward, their testimonies forming the backbone of the prosecution’s case. In separate interviews, Alex and Jordan recounted Sheridan’s final act of courage—spotting the hidden figure and warning everyone to run. “She saved us by speaking up first,” Alex said through tears. “If she hadn’t seen him and told us to go, all four of us might not be here.” Jordan added that Sheridan had lingered for that extra second to make sure the group was moving. “She was always looking out for everyone else.” Their accounts, consistent across police reports, describe a single shot, no further gunfire, and the haunting echo of the shooter’s words still ringing in their ears. Taylor, the third friend, provided a written statement aligning with the others, though she has not yet spoken publicly due to trauma.

As the legal proceedings against Medina move forward—he faces first-degree murder, attempted murder, and firearm charges while reportedly receiving treatment for tuberculosis—the Gorman family remains focused on the human story. Jessica has made it clear that justice, for them, means more than a conviction. It means ensuring that the systems meant to protect young people like Sheridan are examined honestly and improved. “We are not interested in rhetoric,” she has implied in her public stance. “We are asking for accountability.” The family has not engaged in the broader immigration debate, even as the case has become a flashpoint in discussions about sanctuary city policies in Chicago and Illinois. Instead, they channel their energy into vigils, memorials, and plans for a scholarship that will carry Sheridan’s spirit forward—perhaps helping other young women pursue business degrees or community service.

Public reaction to Jessica’s words has been overwhelming. On social media platforms, thousands have shared the clip of her speaking outside the home, many posting photos of Sheridan’s bright smile alongside messages of support. Candlelight gatherings at Loyola University and in Yorktown Heights have drawn hundreds of students and locals, with signs reading “Justice for Sheridan” and “Honor Her Life.” Conservative commentators have amplified the family’s call for answers, while others have praised their decision to keep the focus on Sheridan rather than the accused. Megyn Kelly and other national voices have highlighted the mother’s strength, noting how her refusal to name the suspect underscores a family’s desire to grieve without being drawn into partisan battles.

Yet beneath the public statements lies the private reality of a household forever altered. Jessica Gorman wakes each morning to the same ache, replaying the last conversations she had with her daughter. Sheridan had been excited about an upcoming visit home, promising to teach her little brother new bowling tricks and to help plan the family’s Easter gathering. Those plans now sit unfinished. The family has turned the living room into a temporary shrine, with yearbooks, bowling trophies, and the hoodie Sheridan wore on her first day of college arranged carefully on a table. Relatives have flown in from across the country, creating a constant hum of shared stories and quiet tears. “We are beyond shattered,” Jessica repeats, not as a cry for pity but as a simple statement of fact—one that carries the weight of every parent who has ever feared a late-night phone call.

Legal experts following the case note that Medina’s arrest came swiftly, thanks in part to surveillance footage capturing his distinctive limp as he fled the scene. Court documents cite the friends’ consistent descriptions of his clothing, gait, and the exact phrase he uttered as key evidence. Prosecutors have filed additional charges, and the case is expected to move through the system in the coming months. For the Gorman family, however, the courtroom is only one part of the journey. Jessica has vowed to remain involved every step of the way, ensuring that Sheridan’s voice—her warning on the pier, her laughter in the dorm, her dreams for the future—remains at the center of the narrative.

In one particularly moving exchange, Jessica reflected on the kind of young woman Sheridan had become. “She was the one who organized study sessions, baked cookies for the entire floor during finals, and volunteered with her church group,” the mother said. “She turned a boring Thursday night into something special just by suggesting they go look for the Northern Lights.” That spirit of adventure, Jessica believes, is what the family must preserve. They plan to establish a foundation in Sheridan’s name, supporting college students who want to create safe, meaningful experiences on campus. “We want her legacy to be about living fully, not about how she died,” Jessica emphasized.

The days since March 20 have blurred into a relentless cycle of arrangements, interviews, and quiet moments of remembrance. Jessica has not slept more than a few hours at a time, sustained by coffee, the support of her husband, and the outpouring of love from their community. She has read every condolence card, answered messages from Sheridan’s high-school teachers, and sat with her son as he processes the loss of his big sister. Through it all, her vow remains unshaken: “We are gonna get justice for Sheridan.” It is a promise not born of anger alone, but of love—the fierce, protective love of a mother who will not allow her daughter’s light to be extinguished by silence or indifference.

As the nation continues to watch the case unfold, Jessica Gorman’s words serve as a reminder that behind every headline is a family forever changed. Sheridan Gorman was not a policy debate. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend, and a young woman with dreams that stretched far beyond that cold pier on Lake Michigan. Her mother’s public stand—measured, dignified, and unyielding—has given voice to a grief that words can barely contain. “We have a voice and it’s gonna be heard,” Jessica declared. In speaking those words, she has ensured that Sheridan’s story will not end on a wooden pier in Chicago. It will continue in the hearts of those who loved her, in the scholarship that will bear her name, and in the quiet determination of a family that refuses to let tragedy define their daughter’s legacy.

The road ahead will be long and painful. There will be court dates, difficult conversations, and anniversaries that feel impossible to face. Yet Jessica Gorman has made one thing abundantly clear: the Gorman family will walk that road together, guided by the memory of a girl who spotted danger and tried to protect her friends, and fueled by a mother’s unbreakable vow to see justice done. In the end, Sheridan’s light—bright, warm, and full of possibility—will shine on, not because the world demands it, but because her family has chosen to keep it burning.