Whispers of Lost Dreams: The Victims of Tumbler Ridge – A Scientist, a Hockey Player, a ‘Princess’ Now at Peace

Nestled in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, where the crisp air carries the faint echo of coal trains rumbling through the valleys, Tumbler Ridge has always been a place of quiet endurance. This northeastern British Columbia town, home to just over 2,000 resilient souls, was built on the back of mining booms in the 1980s—a community where families bond over bonfires, kids chase soccer balls in snow-dusted parks, and the rhythm of life feels as steady as the ancient forests surrounding it. But on the fateful afternoon of February 10, 2026, that fragile harmony shattered like ice under a pickaxe. A mass shooting at Tumbler Ridge Secondary School, preceded by deadly violence at a nearby home, claimed nine lives, including the 18-year-old shooter, Jesse Van Rootselaar. Eight innocent victims—five students, one teacher, a mother, and her young son—were stolen from their loved ones in a rampage that left 25 others wounded, some clinging to life in distant hospitals.

As the nation reels from one of Canada’s deadliest school shootings in decades, the focus turns not to the perpetrator, but to those whose lights were extinguished far too soon. Their stories, emerging through tearful tributes and social media posts, paint a portrait of promise cut short: a budding scientist with a mind full of experiments, a determined hockey player gliding toward greatness, and a gentle ‘princess’ whose artistry lit up the world. These are the victims of Tumbler Ridge, remembered not as statistics, but as vibrant souls whose absences now echo through empty classrooms, silent rinks, and heartbroken homes. Their legacies demand we listen, grieve, and demand change in a world where such horrors seem increasingly inescapable.

The tragedy began unfolding around 1 p.m. that Tuesday, when reports of gunfire at a residence on the town’s outskirts sent shockwaves through the community. There, Jennifer Strang, a 39-year-old mother known for her outspoken online presence and quiet strength, was found lifeless alongside her 11-year-old son from a previous relationship. Jennifer, who had navigated the complexities of small-town life with a blend of conservative values and fierce advocacy, had recently voiced her fears about societal hatred in a raw 2024 Instagram post. “As a conservative leaning libertarian who lives in the north and loves living in a small town,” she wrote, pleading for empathy amid rising transphobia, “I really hope the hate I see online is just bored old people and not true hatred.” Her words, now haunting, underscored her efforts to shield her family from division. Friends described her as a pillar—baking pies for neighbors, working odd jobs to make ends meet, and supporting her eldest child, Jesse, through a gender transition that began six years earlier. Her young son, whose name has not been publicly released at the family’s request, was a bundle of energy, often seen riding his bike along the tree-lined streets or playing video games with friends. “He was just starting to find his place in the world,” a neighbor told local media, his voice breaking. Their deaths, intimate and brutal, set the stage for the horror that would soon engulf the school.

Minutes later, the nightmare spilled into Tumbler Ridge Secondary School, a modest brick building that doubles as the heart of education for grades 7 through 12 in this remote enclave. Students were midway through afternoon classes when Jesse, armed with a legally acquired semi-automatic rifle, stormed the halls. Panic ensued as gunshots reverberated through the corridors—desks overturned, screams piercing the air, children huddling in closets or fleeing through emergency exits. By the time RCMP officers arrived, six lay dead: five preteens on the brink of their teenage years and a dedicated teacher who gave her life shielding them. The shooter, after exchanging fire with police, was found deceased from a self-inflicted wound. Among the wounded were two airlifted to Vancouver with life-threatening injuries, including 12-year-old Maya Gebala, who underwent emergency surgery for gunshot wounds to her head and neck. Her mother, in a gut-wrenching Facebook update, shared, “I can feel her in my heart. I can feel her saying it’s going to be OK.” A GoFundMe for Maya’s recovery has surged past $243,000, a testament to the outpouring of support from strangers moved by her fight.

But it is the stories of those who didn’t survive that grip the soul most tightly. Abel Mwansa Jr., a bright-eyed boy whose curiosity knew no bounds, embodied the spirit of a future scientist. Though his exact age remains unconfirmed in public reports, he was school-aged, attending classes that fateful morning with the innocence of youth. His family, originally from Zambia, had built a life in Tumbler Ridge centered on faith and hard work—his grandfather a pastor, his parents instilling values of respect and diligence. Abel’s father, Abel Mwansa Sr., poured out his grief in a poignant Facebook post that has resonated across continents: “I raised him to respect his elders, be strong, work hard, put a smile on his face like I do, focus on his studies, never miss school and to be a good kid.” He recalled a tender moment when suggesting homeschooling during a flu outbreak, only for young Abel to burst into tears. “He loved going to school so much,” his father wrote, the words heavy with unspoken dreams. Abel was the kind of child who turned everyday wonders into experiments—mixing household items to create bubbling reactions, explaining his hypotheses with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “I saw a bright future, a leader, an engineer, also a scientist in you, because you loved doing experiments with explanation,” his father lamented. On that Tuesday, Abel left home around 8:20 a.m., casually instructing his mother, “Tell dad to come and pick me up at church when he comes back from work.” Those mundane words now haunt his parents, who reunited with him only in tragedy. His mother, Bwalya Chisanga, shared her anguish simply: “I can’t handle this pain.” The loss has rippled back to Zambia, where relatives mourn a boy whose potential was as vast as the African savannas his family once called home. In Tumbler Ridge, Abel’s absence leaves a void in classrooms where his questions once sparked discussions, a reminder of how violence robs the world of its innovators.

Then there was Ezekiel Schofield, the 13-year-old hockey phenom whose skates carved paths of promise on the local ice. As a forward on the U-15 Tumbler Ridge Raptors for the 2025/26 season, Ezekiel was more than a player—he was a force, gliding with the grace of a pro and the grit of a miner. Teammates remember him as the kid who always showed up early for practice, stick in hand, ready to drill passes until perfection. In a town where hockey is religion, Ezekiel’s passion united families at the rink, where cheers echoed under the arena lights on frosty evenings. His grandfather, Peter Schofield, captured the family’s devastation in a raw Facebook tribute: “We feel absolutely broken,” he wrote, as he traveled to Tumbler Ridge to console Ezekiel’s parents and siblings. “Everything feels so surreal. The tears just keep flowing. So many young lives were ended so needlessly. Our hearts are broken not only for Ezekiel, but for every family affected by this tragedy.” Photos shared online show a beaming teen in his jersey, helmet pushed back, sweat glistening after a hard-fought game. Ezekiel dreamed of taking his talents beyond the small-town leagues—perhaps to junior teams in Prince George or even the WHL. But beyond the ice, he was a devoted brother and grandson, helping with chores at home and volunteering at community events. His death has silenced the rink; practices have been canceled, and the Raptors’ coach issued a statement calling him “the heart of our team.” In a community where sports forge unbreakable bonds, Ezekiel’s story underscores the fragility of youth, turning what should have been a season of triumphs into one of unimaginable sorrow.

Perhaps the most poignant tale is that of Kylie May Smith, the 12-year-old ‘princess’ whose gentle spirit and artistic flair enchanted all who knew her. Kylie was the epitome of childhood wonder—a girl who sketched anime characters with vibrant colors, collected gel pens like treasures, and dreamed of studying art in the bustling streets of Toronto. Her stepmother, Jennifer Geary, shared with media that Kylie was “just a beautiful soul,” her enthusiasm for anime and creativity infectious. On that morning, Kylie and her younger brother Ethan walked to school together, exchanging hugs in the crisp air— a routine now etched in eternal regret. Ethan survived by hiding in a utility room, emerging dust-covered but alive, while Kylie’s fate hung in uncertainty for agonizing hours. Her mother, Desirae Pisarski, recounted the horror: “Not long after, I found out that my son, Ethan, was safe, but the whereabouts of my beautiful daughter, Kylie, were unknown and had been for a while.” The confirmation came like a thunderclap, shattering her world. In a heartfelt Facebook post, Desirae shared a collage of memories: Kylie skiing down powdery slopes, figure skating with effortless grace, receiving an elementary school award as an “Artful Artist,” and dressed in a princess gown, crown sparkling. “Kylie was only 12 and was growing into such an amazing young woman,” she wrote. “She had the biggest heart and was such a gentle, loving, caring girl who lit up the way everywhere she went. You are at peace now, princess.” Kylie’s aspirations reached far beyond Tumbler Ridge; she yearned for the city’s lights, where her art could flourish. A GoFundMe for her family has raised over $22,000, with donors leaving messages like “Rest in peace, little artist.” Her story, laced with innocence and unfulfilled potential, has become a symbol of the tragedy’s cruelty, reminding us how violence preys on the pure.

The other victims, though not yet fully identified publicly, add layers to the collective grief. A 39-year-old female teacher, whose name is withheld at her family’s request, perished while barricading her classroom door, her final act saving several students. Colleagues describe her as a nurturing force, stocking her desk with snacks and supplies for any child in need. Two other girls, also around 12, remain unnamed, their families guarding privacy amid overwhelming sorrow. Their deaths compound the loss, leaving empty seats in art classes and playgrounds silent.

Survivors like Paige Hoekstra, airlifted to Vancouver, fight on. Her brother Nicholas shared: “Watching someone you love go through something like this is something you can’t really prepare for. We’re scared, we’re hoping, and we’re just taking it one moment at a time.” A GoFundMe for Paige has garnered $23,000.

In the aftermath, Tumbler Ridge has become a tapestry of mourning and resilience. That evening, over 800 residents braved -18°C temperatures for a candlelight vigil, flames flickering against the night as Mayor Darryl Krakowka declared, “We are one big, hurting family tonight.” Local organizations like the Johnny Malcolm Foundation and Lake View Credit Union have set up donation hubs, channeling funds to those in need. Schools across the district closed, mental health teams descended from Vancouver, and mines offered paid leave for grieving workers.

Yet, questions linger: How did Jesse, with a history of mental health interventions, obtain a firearm? Jennifer Strang’s pleas against hate echo louder now, fueling debates on transgender support, gun control, and rural mental health access. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau pledged resources, while advocates demand action.

As snow blankets Tumbler Ridge once more, the victims’ stories endure—Abel’s experiments, Ezekiel’s goals, Kylie’s sketches. They urge us to honor them not with silence, but with change. In their memory, let us build a world where scientists, hockey players, and princesses can dream without fear.