The theater’s neon purple lights continued to glow at night, weeks after the shooting. Eventually, the world grew tired of the story. But Aurora would never forget it. Time ticked on. People drove around the city with stickers stuck to the rear of their cars that read “We Are Aurora.” Some wore T-shirts with the yellow and black Batman logo. Aurora City Council members talked about fence permits, water deals and tax incentives at their Monday night meetings. People went to movies, checked out books from libraries, played golf. In the wake of the shooting, the cost to the city was that everything was different, even though everything was the same.
Months passed and the pain festered. Appointment books of psychologists and mental health professionals filled up. Victims who were in the theater that night and people who had no connection to it other than hearing about the tragedy in the news sought mental help. There was an overwhelming sense among city officials that something more should be done to help ease the pain. But what?
That sense of wanting to do something substantial materialized a year later in the basement of an abandoned library. By the first anniversary of the shooting, the spacious basement with pale yellow and gray walls will be home to free therapeutic services for everyone in the city, including victims who were in the theater that night. The words “Aurora Strong Community Resilience Center” will be plastered on the side of the large, gray building. Although the place looked bare bones in early June, by late July it will be buzzing with people doing yoga, making art, playing pool, meeting with therapists and developing tools to cope with current and future traumas. At least that’s what city officials hope. It’s a novel experiment in recovery, but no one knows how it’ll pan out. As one city councilwoman put it, “There’s nothing that demonstrates that this is what’s needed.”
Still, doing something and seeing what sticks might be better than doing nothing at all. Council members agreed to donate the space. The price tag to keep the resilience center open and pay for staff salaries for 18 months is $330,000. Large donations and grants covered the cost.
The idea for a center that will offer a hodgepodge of therapeutic services in the basement of an old library might seem trite. But for Lasamoa Cross, whose boyfriend died in the theater that night, the place will be cathartic. She’s interested in attending group therapy sessions alongside other survivors of the theater shooting. For her, that’s a more effective way of dealing with the hole left in her heart. Group therapy isn’t the same when people are grieving over different tragedies, she said. “It’s so much harder to talk to people that haven’t really experienced loss like this, or something as traumatic,” she said. “I think it’s magnificent, because it’s one of those things where I can talk to those who were there, and that do understand.”
Psychologists also see the benefits of the resilience center. For many people, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder don’t present themselves until months or years after a tragedy. For some people, it might be the sound of fireworks that triggers memories of gunshots. For others, being in a theater on the opening day of a blockbuster hit can cause unexpected anxiety. Combining group and individual therapy with exercise-focused activities is one way to counteract the distress, say psychologists at the University of Colorado.
Victims of tragedies learn to cope with emotional pain in different ways. Dance, exercise, art or talk therapy might help. Or it might not. But one thing is certain, said Kristen Anderson, disaster coordinator for Aurora Mental Health Center. Rarely ever do they make it through the darkness alone. “Social support is the common thread,” she said. “And I feel like this place can give them that.”
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