Names. We see them on the screen for a few days, maybe a week, and then the cycle moves on. But for the families in Colorado Springs, Boulder, and Aurora, those names are everything. They are empty chairs at Thanksgiving. They are unread text messages. When we talk about the victims in the Colorado shooting events that have scarred the state over the last few decades, we aren't just talking about statistics or "casualty counts." We are talking about human beings who were just living their lives.
Colorado has a heavy history. It's a beautiful place, but it's been the site of some of the most high-profile tragedies in American history. From the 1999 Columbine High School massacre to the 2012 Aurora theater shooting, the 2021 Boulder King Soopers tragedy, and the 2022 Club Q shooting in Colorado Springs—the list is long. It's too long.
People often ask why Colorado? There are a million theories. Some point to the "copycat effect," others to the state's specific demographics or gun laws. Honestly, there isn't one single answer that makes sense of the senseless. But what we can do—what we must do—is look at the people who were lost. Because their lives matter way more than the motives of the people who took them.
The Human Cost of the Club Q Tragedy
In November 2022, Club Q was a sanctuary. For the LGBTQ+ community in Colorado Springs, it was one of the few places where you could truly be yourself without looking over your shoulder. Then, in an instant, that safety was shattered. Five people were killed.
Daniel Aston was only 28. He was a transgender man and a bartender at the club. His parents described him as a "force of nature" who loved to perform. He moved to Colorado Springs specifically because he found a community there. He was the kind of guy who made everyone feel welcome the moment they walked in.
Then there was Kelly Loving, who was 40. She was visiting from Denver. Her friends remember her as a "surrogate mother" to many in the trans community. She was kind. She was generous. She was just out for a night of fun with friends when the unthinkable happened.
We also lost Ashley Paugh, 35, who wasn't even part of the LGBTQ+ community but was there to support a friend. She was a mother. She worked for a non-profit that helped find foster homes for children. It’s a bitter irony that someone who spent her life finding homes for kids was taken away from her own daughter.
The other victims, Derrick Rump and Raymond Green Vance, were equally vital parts of the fabric of that community. Raymond was only 22. He was at the club with his girlfriend and her family to celebrate a birthday. He had his whole life ahead of him. Derrick was a bartender, known for his quick wit and for being the "backbone" of the Club Q staff.
The Boulder King Soopers Shooting: Everyday Heroes
March 22, 2021. A Monday afternoon. People were getting groceries. Some were waiting in line for their COVID-19 vaccines. It was mundane. It was normal. Until it wasn't. Ten people died at the King Soopers in Boulder that day.
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The first person identified was Officer Eric Talley. He was 51 and a father of seven. He was the first officer on the scene. He ran toward the danger. You hear that phrase a lot, but for Talley, it was the literal truth. He gave his life to save others.
But it wasn't just the first responders. The victims in the Colorado shooting at that grocery store included people like Denny Stong, who was only 20. He was a worker at the store. He was a history buff. He loved model planes. He was just starting his life.
Rikki Olds, 25, was a front-end manager. She was described as a "firecracker." She was the person who kept the energy up during a long shift. Then you had Teri Leiker, 51, who had worked at that store for 31 years. Think about that. Thirty-one years. She loved her job, and she loved her community. To have that taken away in a place she considered a second home is just devastating.
The ages of the victims in Boulder ranged from 20 to 65. Kevin Mahoney, 61, had recently walked his daughter down the aisle. Suzanne Fountain, 59, was a local actress and Medicare agent. TrALona Bartkowiak, 49, ran a small business. Lynn Murray, 62, was a retired magazine photo director. Jody Waters, 65, was a grandmother and a pillar of the local fashion community. Neven Stanisic, 23, was just stopping by the store on his way to another job.
Every one of these people had a story. They weren't "victims." They were neighbors.
Aurora 2012: The Midnight Movie Nightmare
It’s been over a decade since the Aurora theater shooting, but the scars haven't faded. It happened during a midnight screening of The Dark Knight Rises. Twelve people were killed. Dozens more were injured.
AJ Boik, 18, had just graduated from high school. He was an artist. He was supposed to start art school a few months later. Micayla Medek, 23, was a "Coke enthusiast" who worked at Subway and was a beloved sister.
One of the most heart-wrenching stories was that of Jessica Ghawi. She was a budding sports journalist who had actually survived a shooting at a mall in Toronto just weeks before. She wrote a blog post after the Toronto incident about how fragile life is. She didn't know how right she was.
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Then there were the protectors. Jon Blunk, Matt McQuinn, and Alex Teves all died while shielding their girlfriends from the gunfire. They used their own bodies as human shields. That kind of bravery is hard to even wrap your head around. Alexander J. "AJ" Sullivan, who was celebrating his 27th birthday that night, also lost his life. He died on his birthday.
Veronica Moser-Sullivan was the youngest victim. She was 6 years old. There are no words for that. None.
The Legacy of the Fallen
When we look back at the victims in the Colorado shooting history, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by the darkness. But there’s also a lot of light in how these communities respond.
After the Boulder shooting, the fence around the King Soopers became a massive memorial. Thousands of flowers, notes, and photos. It was a physical representation of the hole left in the community.
In Colorado Springs, the "Colorado Springs Q-Strong" movement raised millions of dollars to support the families of the victims and the survivors. This isn't just about money; it's about saying "you aren't alone."
Survivors from these different events often end up connecting with each other. There’s a weird, tragic fraternity of people who have been through this. They help each other navigate the PTSD, the court cases, and the anniversaries that never get any easier.
Understanding the Ripple Effects
The impact of a mass shooting doesn't stop at the people who were killed. It ripples out through the entire community.
- First Responders: The police, EMTs, and ER doctors who see the carnage firsthand. Many struggle with long-term trauma.
- Witnesses: The people who were in the theater, the store, or the club and made it out. They carry the "survivor's guilt" forever.
- The Families: For them, the shooting never "ends." It's a permanent part of their timeline. There is "before" and there is "after."
- Local Businesses: When a tragedy happens at a place of business, that business often struggles to ever feel the same. Some close. Some, like the Boulder King Soopers, remodel completely to try and create a fresh start.
Dealing with the Trauma
If you're reading this and feeling heavy, that's normal. These stories are brutal. But there are ways to channel that feeling into something productive.
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First, support the organizations that help survivors. Groups like Colorado Organization for Victim Assistance (COVA) do incredible work. They provide direct services to people who have been impacted by crime.
Second, listen to the survivors. They are the ones who know what needs to change. Whether it's mental health access, red flag laws, or community safety programs, their voices are the most important ones in the room.
Third, remember the names. Don't let the perpetrators be the ones who are remembered. When someone mentions a "Colorado shooting," bring up the names of the people who lived. Talk about the artist, the father of seven, the 6-year-old girl, the bartender who loved to dance.
Moving Forward Without Forgetting
We can't change the past. We can't bring back the people lost in Aurora, Boulder, or the Springs. But we can change how we honor them.
Avoid the "thoughts and prayers" trap. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn't do much for the family trying to pay for a funeral or the survivor who can't afford therapy. If you want to help, find local funds. Donate blood. Volunteer for community organizations that build social ties.
The victims in the Colorado shooting events weren't just people in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were our neighbors. They were us.
Actionable Ways to Honor the Victims
To truly honor those lost, we have to move beyond just reading their names. Here is how you can actually make a difference:
- Support the Colorado Healing Fund. This is a non-profit that was specifically set up to provide a secure way for people to donate to victims of mass casualty crimes in Colorado. It ensures the money actually goes to the families and survivors.
- Advocate for Mental Health Resources. Many of these tragedies highlight the massive gaps in our mental healthcare system. Supporting local clinics like the Jefferson Center or Mental Health Center of Denver helps build a stronger safety net for everyone.
- Participate in National Gun Violence Awareness events. Whether you're for or against specific laws, being part of the conversation about safety is vital.
- Check in on your neighbors. A lot of the time, the people who commit these acts are isolated. Building a more connected, less lonely community is something we can all do every single day.
Colorado is a place of incredible resilience. You see it in the way the mountains stand tall after a fire, and you see it in the way these communities knit themselves back together after a tragedy. We remember the victims not just because of how they died, but because of how they lived. They were loved. They are missed. And they will never be forgotten.