We all feel guilt, but can we harness guilt for good? Watch Insight's episode Guilt on
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Guilt
episode • Insight • news and current affairs • 52m
episode • Insight • news and current affairs • 52m
Content warning: This story mentions suicide.
It was 11 days before Christmas and the freshly cut tree left the house smelling of pine. I sat down to start work at my computer when an email notification appeared on my screen: 'There has been a school shooting'.
It was a moment that I'll never forget.
I had been a police officer and my rational brain thought, this can't happen at this time of year, not in this community.
When we'd moved back to the US, my home country, my Australian wife Georgia's biggest fear had been exposing our two sons to gun violence.
So we'd chosen a place that hadn't seen any kind of murder for over 20 years. It was an hour from New York City and the ocean.
In no time we'd found our new home on acreage in a little village outside of Newtown, Connecticut called .
The town of Newtown in the US state of Connecticut offers residents a rural feel just over an hour away from New York City. Source: Supplied /
She turned white in shock. We had one child in Sandy Hook Elementary School — where the shooting happened — and one at the nearby high school.
I tried to act as the rescuer.
"It's a very rural community, there are woods around the school, it's deer season, so somebody's seen somebody with a firearm, and it's just that," I said.
But it was the longest nightmare of my life.
The power of guilt
Even before that day, America's gun violence had shaped my life.
I met Georgia after a 10-year career as a deputy sheriff in Ohio that exposed me to fatal car accidents, , homicides (sometimes of my fellow officers and friends) and suicides.
I experienced the grief and guilt of others almost daily.
In his decade working as a deputy sheriff in the US state of Ohio, Darren Wagner says he "experienced the grief and guilt of others almost daily". Source: Supplied
Sometimes the perpetrator had guilt etched in their face and would say: "I don’t know why I did that, I just can’t explain it."
Sometimes they had no guilt at all.
Once I experienced my own guilt. A matter of minutes would have allowed me to save a young boy from dying in a house fire.
Often I had to deliver messages that a family member had died, primal screams that still haunt my dreams.
A diagnosis of PTSD ended my career, while my psychiatrist told me I would never be able to work again. I tried to end my life, but was interrupted by a friend.
Then came the guilt as a suicide attempt survivor.
We'd moved to Australia so I could escape my demons — first to Sydney, where our sons were born, then to Airlie Beach in the tropical north.
But after a few years, our sons had become bored with small-town life; the nearest cinema was almost two hours drive each way.
Georgia suggested returning to the US, where I could be close to my family and enjoy the seasons again.
So we'd planned our move, searching out a place with the small-town atmosphere the boys had grown accustomed to. And of course it had to be safe, with little to no crime.
But the fear of gun violence arose when one of our sons came home from school after telling his friends that he was moving to America.
"I wouldn't do that, you could get shot," the friend said.
I had to immediately put a halt to that nonsense. I reassured him no such thing could or would happen on my watch.
Unimaginable tragedy
Back in the US, the seasons were magical. Spring reawakened flowers and trees, summers were hot, fall revealed vibrant foliage and the winter was the wonderland I remembered as a child.
We settled down into our new lives and took up new careers, though my PTSD still haunted me.
On the day of the school shooting, I was suddenly transported back to being a cop, delivering an unwanted message about a loved one.
The next email confirmed that somebody had been shot in one of the schools. It's probably a domestic violence situation between adults, I told Georgia. But she still wasn't comforted.
By chance, luck or fate, our youngest son — who was 13 at the time — was home sick that day.
We had wanted to give our Sydney-born boys an American experience by going back, and they had gotten it.Darren Wagner
When I texted my eldest — who was at the high school — and received no reply, my heart sank. I could feel the grasp of fear trying to take over my body and mind.
I didn't know whether to go to the high school to find him, or stay and support Georgia and our youngest son, who was now getting texts from his friends about the shooting. I felt torn and guilty.
Then I got a text from our eldest — who was 15 at the time — who said he was safe in maths class, the doors barricaded with tables and chairs.
We stared at the TV that was showing aerial footage of the elementary school while helicopters broadcasting the footage hovered outside our bedroom window.
After about four hours, the shooter was confirmed dead by his own hands. This troubled young man had lived in our neighbourhood and had shot and killed his mother before going to the school. In total, the massacre had left 26 people dead, including 20 children between six and seven years old.
The mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in December 2012 left 26 people dead, including 20 children aged between six and seven years old. Source: Supplied /
The next day I felt numb. When we went to a memorial service at the high school, the normally quiet country roads were choked with giant satellite trucks, news vans and police cars.
Then-president Barack Obama spoke at the service and for the first time, my eldest son cried.
Former president Barack Obama wipes tears from his eyes as he recalled the 20 first-graders killed in 2012 at Sandy Hook Elementary School, while speaking at the White House in 2016. Source: AAP / Carolyn Kaster/AP
We had wanted to give our Sydney-born boys an American experience by going back, and they had gotten it.
The slow path to healing
As a family, we channelled our guilt into activism to address gun violence in America through better legislation. On our first trip to Washington DC, I ran into my friend who had lost his son at Sandy Hook.
Through tears, I expressed my condolences and he thanked me and asked how my sons were. I replied that they were okay. I knew I was lucky, but in that moment, I felt intense guilt.
The massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012 is the deadliest mass shooting in Connecticut history and the deadliest at a primary school in US history. Source: Supplied
Sadly, we were mistaken, which also leaves me with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
In 2021, the most recent year for which we have complete data, 48,830 people died from gun-related injuries in the US, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Americans have become numb to the statistics.
Due to the unchanged and the death threats I was receiving because of my activism, we returned to Sydney, where we could put our kids on a bus to school and not worry if they would come home.
I also returned to school to study psychotherapy, and am now doing a PhD researching the role of peer support workers in mental health services.
While it has been easy for me to forgive others because I have seen how short life can be, with my own guilt I have been less forgiving.
I've only recently begun to find ways to hold my pain and guilt like a crying baby, calming and comforting it as I slowly start to mend.
Readers seeking crisis support can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14, the Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467 and Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800 (for young people aged up to 25). More information and support with mental health is available at and on 1300 22 4636.
supports people from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds.
If you or someone you know is impacted by family and domestic violence, call 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732, text 0458 737 732, or visit . In an emergency, call 000.
And for more stories head to – a new podcast series from SBS, hosted by Kumi Taguchi. From sex and relationships to health, wealth, and grief Insightful offers deeper dives into the lives and first person stories of former guests from the acclaimed TV show, Insight.
