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She Said Yes: The Unlikely Martyrdom of Cassie Bernall / Edition 1

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Farmington, PA, U.S.A. 1999 Hardcover First Edition New in As New dust jacket 0874869870. As New. 1999, 1st edition, as new/ as new d.j. hard cover, nice copy. keyword religion. ... 12/23/03. Read more Show Less

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Overview

She Said Yes is a story of growing up in the '90s, of peer pressure, adolescent turmoil, and the tough choices parents make. It is the story of a mother's loss - of dreams and hopes dashed by the cruel reality of death at an early age. But it is also a story of redemption more enduring than the tragedy that cut a young life short.

When 17-year-old Cassie Bernall walked into the library of her suburban high school around 11:00 on the morning of April 20, 1999, she had little more on her mind than her latest assignment for English class: another act of Macbeth. How could she know that by the end of the hour, two classmates would storm the school, guns blazing, and kill as many people as they could, including her? As the wounded were carried from the bloody scene, several stories of bravery emerged, but one spread faster and farther than the rest. Confronted by her killers, Cassie was asked, "Do you believe in God?" She answered, "Yes."

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Editorial Reviews

Philip Yancey
Behind the scenes of Cassie Bernall's martyrdom is a story that will chill the heart of every parent - but also bring a strong gust of hope.
Christianity Today
USA Today
Cassie Bernall is a modern-day martyr...her last words have developed a life of their own.
People Magazine
Heartbreaking...The story is far more complicated and enlightening than the tidy martyrdom imposed on Cassie after her death...She Said Yes is a stirring, important look into the tribulations of one all-too-human teen...and a poignant wake-up call to parents.
Denver Post
A highly personal tale of the perils of parenting, a teenager's search for her identity, and hope...during the darkest of days.
Time Magazine
The most talked-about new account of martyrdom...A moving, nuanced story.
New York Post
Gripping...It's hard to think of a book that so plainly or powerfully provides families with wisdom for surviving conflict with their souls and sanity intact...She Said Yes has nothing to do with the syrupy, preachy tomes typical of the "inspirational' genre...It's a profoundly human story that should be read by every parent and every teen.
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
One of the most gripping stories to come out of the shooting at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colo., is that of Cassie Bernall: when asked by the gunmen whether she believed in God, she answered yes and then was shot point-blank. Hours after the story emerged, Cassie was hailed a martyr by news media and Christian groups around the world. Her mother's smoothly written account of that day, and of the years that preceded it, provides a fuller picture of a girl who was once very troubled and, ironically, had been for a time as much of a Goth-loving outsider as her killers. Bernall relates how she and her husband intervened after finding letters in Cassie's room that described occult spells and ways to murder one's parents. In describing her daughter's turnaround, spurred by adjustments at school and a Christian youth group, Bernall also details her own emotional difficulties before and after the shooting. Her remarkable candor about her relationship with her daughter makes this an intense and fascinating memoir. Comments from Cassie's father and schoolmates add depth and, by her own admission, allow even Bernall to learn more about Cassie than she had known before the shooting. Through the Bernall family's example, the book shows how a troubled teenager can be helped, though Bernall doesn't hold back when describing the emotional toll the process can take. Although she doesn't see her daughter as a martyr, Bernall concludes that Cassie's death was, indeed, a triumph of honesty and courage. This powerful memoir honors that courage and reveals Misty Bernall's own. 10 b&w photos. Sept. Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Before Cassie Bernall was shot at Columbine High School in Colorado, she was asked by one of her slayers, "Do you believe in God?" After a brief pause, she answered, "Yes." She was then shot in the head at point-blank range. When the media reported this exchange, Cassie and her response became world famous. Many assume that this kind of reply had to come from a child steeped in religion. This tape, read by Cassie's mother, does an outstanding job of demythologizing her while honoring her life and her legacy. Two years prior to her death, Cassie was following an extremely negative lifestyle; devil worship, drugs, and alcohol were parts of that scene. Through counseling at their church, the Bernalls chose to face this problem agressively and through personal sacrifice, trial, and error wean their daughter from these bad influences. The power of this work comes from Misty's honesty about her own feelings concerning Cassie's behavior, the sacrifices her family had to make to turn her around, and, most importantly, Cassie's death. There is nothing saccharine about this audio; it seeks to honor Cassie by telling the truth about her life, how she lived her last few years, and what kind of person she was when she died. It also features short segments by Cassies father and brother and friends. Anyone dealing with the death of a loved one, struggling with teen issues (whether as a teen or a parent), or interested in the Littleton tragedy will want to hear this story. Highly recommended to school and public libraries.--Kathleen Sullivan, Phoenix P.L. Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.\
School Library Journal
YA-It would be hard to find anyone in the U.S., teen or adult, who does not know what happened at Columbine High School in Littleton, CO, on April 20, 1999. This biography was written by the mother of Cassie Bernall, who was shot by one of the two teen gunmen after answering yes to the question, "Do you believe in God?" A touching foreword by author Madeleine L'Engle sets the tone of the book. Cassie is a very real teen, one who had been as deeply troubled as her killers, but who managed to work her way through it. She had dabbled in "black arts," exchanged letters with a friend about "murdering" a teacher, and loved the shock rock group Marilyn Manson. Once aware of her problems, her parents contacted the authorities, restricted her movements, and closely monitored her friends and activities. Miraculously, a weekend retreat with a church group and newfound friends turned her life around. The story is told through many of her writings and letters, so readers begin to feel as though they know this girl, and understand her. It is a poignant story that will touch teens and leave them wondering if they would have the inner strength and bravery that Cassie showed at her death.-Carol DeAngelo, Kings Park Library, Burke, VA Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
From the Publisher
Dr. Laura Schlessinger This story teaches a striking lesson to parents and young people everywhere.

Johann Christoph Arnold, author of Seeking Peace She Said Yes is gripping, challenging, and encouraging. Gripping because of the drama. Challenging, because it reminds us how important it is to live each day as if it were our last. Encouraging, because it shows that even the most strained family relationship can be saved by love.

The Denver Post A highly personal tale of...a teenager's search for her identity, and hope...during the darkest days.

People The story is far more complicated and enlightening than the tiny martyrdom imposed on Cassie after her death....A poignant wake-up call to parents.

Publishers Weekly She Said Yes shows how a troubled teenager can be helped, though Misty Bernall doesn't hold back when describing the emotional toll the process can take. Although she doesn't see her daughter as a martyr, Bernall concludes that Cassie's death was, indeed, a triumph of honesty and courage. This powerful memoir honors that courage and reveals Misty Bernall's own.

Christianity Today A story that will chill the heart of every parent, but also bring a strong gust of hope.

New York Post Gripping....It's hard to think of a book that so plainly or powerfully provides families with wisdom for surviving conflict with their souls and sanity intact.

Time We expect martyrs to be etched in stained glass, not carrying a backpack and worrying about their weight and their finals. Cassie's is a mystery story, the story of a girl lost to bad friends and drugs and witchcraft and all the dark places of teenage rebellion.

The New York Times Though her final act might strike people as extraordinary...she was in many ways just another teenager.

Chicago Tribune From time to time, an example of true moral heroism shows us a case in which someone has the wisdom to recognize a moral imperative and the fortitude to act upon it. When the case involves someone as young and courageous as Cassie Bernall, it is more than heartening; it is humbling and awe-inspiring.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780874869873
  • Publisher: Plough Publishing House, The
  • Publication date: 9/10/1999
  • Edition description: New Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 140
  • Product dimensions: 5.70 (w) x 7.88 (h) x 0.68 (d)

Meet the Author

Misty Bernall is the mother of Cassie Bernall, a victim of the Columbine high school shooting. She lives in Littleton with her husband.

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Read an Excerpt




Chapter One


tuesday


April 20, 1999, started like any other school day in our house. At five forty-five Brad, my husband, left for work, and a little later I got up to wake the kids. Getting teenagers out of bed is always a small battle, but that Tuesday was especially difficult. Cassie had stayed up late the night before catching up on homework, and her books were all over the kitchen table. Her cat's litter box needed attention, too, and we were running late with breakfast. I remember trying not to lecture her about all the things that needed doing before she left for school ...

    About seven-twenty Chris kissed me goodbye, or at least gave me his cheek, which is what it's gone to lately (he's fifteen) and clattered down the stairs and out of the house. Cassie stopped at the door to put on her shoes — her beloved black velvet Doc Martens, which she wore rain or shine, even with dresses — grabbed her backpack, and headed after her brother. As she left I leaned over the banister to say goodbye, like I always do: "Bye, Cass. I love you." "Love you too, Mom," she mumbled back. Then she was gone, through the back yard, over the fence, and across the soccer field to the high school, which is only a hundred yards away. I dressed, made myself a cup of coffee, locked up, and drove off to work.

    Around lunchtime I got a call from Charlie, a friend, asking me if I'd heard about some shooting at the high school. I said no. I tried not to panic: for one thing, it didn't seem like anything Cassie or Chris would be involved in. Probably just some kids facing offin the parking lot, or a drive-by on Pierce Street. For another, my coffee buddy, Val, and I had just picked up lunch at a local market, and we were ready to eat. Besides, I had always thought of Columbine as a safe school. Wasn't it? ... I decided to call Brad, just in case he had heard anything.

    Brad was at the house when I called; he had left work early and gone home sick. When he picked up the phone, I told him what I had heard, and he said he had just gotten similar news from Kathy, a friend at work. Brad had also heard several pops outside, and one or two louder booms, but he wasn't too concerned. It was lunch time, and there were always kids running around outdoors. Probably just some prankster setting off firecrackers.

    After I hung up, Brad put on his shoes, went out to the back yard, and looked over the fence. There were cops everywhere. Back in the house he turned on the TV and caught what must have been the first news bulletins. Shortly after that the first live coverage was aired. All at once the pieces came together, and he realized that this was no prank:


My eyes were still glued to the tube, but I knelt at the corner of the couch and asked God to take care of all those children. Naturally, my thoughts were focused on our kids, on Cassie and Chris, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I was sure they were both okay. It seems that if something were to happen to someone so close to you, you would sense something, feel something. I didn't.


The next thirty-six hours were pure hell. By the time I got to Columbine, hundreds of desperate parents and relatives, police officers, bomb squads, reporters, and onlookers had already descended on the area around the school, and complete pandemonium reigned.

    Enough facts had emerged for us to know the seriousness of the situation, but the details were disjointed, contradictory, and confusing. All we knew for sure was that two unidentified armed gunmen had gone on a rampage through the school, mowing down students and boasting as they went. Everyone was frantically looking for someone; people were crying, praying, hugging each other, or just standing there stupidly, staring numbly as the whole chaotic scene unwound around them.

    Many of the families with children at Columbine were shepherded to Leawood, a nearby elementary school, to await word from the police as to their safety; others of us were stuck at a public library, because Leawood couldn't take any more people.

    It was like a battle zone. Soon lists of the injured and safe were being printed out and distributed. In between scanning the latest updates I ran breathlessly from one cluster of students to another yelling for Cassie and Chris and asking if anyone had seen them. Searching the school grounds itself was out of the question, of course. The whole campus was cordoned off and surrounded by an eerie ring of rifle-carrying SWAT teams.

    Chris showed up early in the afternoon; he had fled to a neighbor's home near the high school and finally got through to Brad, who was stationed by the phone at home. Brad reached me on my cell phone. Immediately I breathed easier: Thank God; now we only have to look for one child. But the relief did not last more than a second or two, as my thoughts raced back to Cassie. Where was my daughter?

    Though hundreds of fleeing students had been loaded into buses and driven off to safety in the immediate aftermath of the shooting, others, like Chris, had escaped the mayhem on foot, and in some cases it was hours before their whereabouts were confirmed. The injured, many of them unidentified, had been rushed off in ambulances, and dozens of others hid for hours in closets and classrooms throughout the building. Some, we found out later, were lying alone bleeding to death.

    Around five o'clock those of us still waiting for news of our children at the public library were told that one last busload of students was on its way from the high school, and we should go over to Leawood to meet it. Brad and Chris had joined me earlier in the afternoon, and immediately we jumped into the car and drove toward the school as fast as we could.

    Although our destination was only a few blocks away, it was a terrible drive. Nearly every street near the high school had been barricaded, and the few that were still open to traffic were clogged with TV trucks and vans from every media outlet in Denver. Overhead, TV helicopters clattered, and in front of us and behind us sirens wailed. My heart was pounding so hard, I could hardly bear the anxiety.

    Finally, we got to Leawood. Jumping from the car, I craned my neck to look first one way down the street, then the other. No bus. We waited. Minutes passed, and we kept checking and rechecking the street. Still no bus. Finally, it dawned on us: there was no "last busload" coming. I was beside myself; distraught beyond words. Up to that point I had still hoped for the best, but now? I felt deceived. Not intentionally, perhaps, but deceived nonetheless, and so bitterly that it almost choked me.

    Weeks later we heard the police were certain that all the missing were dead as early as eight o'clock that evening; that they had accounted for everyone else. But because they didn't have positive confirmation, they hadn't said this, and so I continued to grasp at straws. Maybe she's hiding somewhere, I tried to convince myself. She's always been resourceful, and might have found a good place. I just hope she's not hurt. Or: It's better she's hurt than dead. If she's injured she can at least be helped. But she's got to make it through the night, or at least until somebody gets to her ... Hope is really the only thing that will keep you going in such a crisis, even if it's a thin shred.

    By nine-thirty I couldn't stand the tension any longer, and since the police were not giving out any new information, Brad and I decided to go home. It wasn't that we felt like giving up; that wasn't at all the case. But what was the point of hanging around Leawood the rest of the night? Back at the house Brad climbed on top of the garden shed in our yard. He wanted to see for himself what was going on in the school:


Standing on the roof of that shed I could see the whole school. Using binoculars I could even see right into the library windows. I could see the yellow letters stamped on the blue coats of the ATF men; they were walking around in there, heads down, as if looking for something. I couldn't really see what they were doing, but I guess they were stepping over bodies, looking for explosives. Later we heard that they found dozens of bombs ...


Around ten-thirty or eleven there was an explosion from the direction of the high school. We rushed up the stairs to Cassie's bedroom to see if we could see flames or smoke or anything else from her window, but we couldn't. Nothing but blackness, and the low red and blue flashes of police cars and fire trucks on Pierce Street. It must have been a bomb detonating. I was shaking with fear and dread. What if Cassie was still alive?

    Gradually fatigue overtook me, and I tried to go to sleep. It was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, a new nightmare would jolt me awake. Again and again I saw Cassie. Cassie huddled in some dark closet, wondering if it was safe to come out; Cassie lying cold on some hallway floor, bleeding to death; Cassie crying out for help, with no one to comfort her. How I longed to hold her, to stroke her head, to wrap myself around her and hug and cry and laugh and squeeze her tight! The agony of her absence, and the emptiness of her room, was almost more than I could take.

    I had taken Cassie's pillow from her bed, and as the tears came I hugged it and buried my face in it and breathed in her scent. Cassie's scent. My baby's scent. I have never cried so long, or so hard.

    Around three-thirty in the morning I finally got up and dressed, and Brad walked with me down Polk to the corner, where the first sheriff's car was sitting. Thinking the driver might have something new to tell us, we asked him several pointed questions, but he only hemmed and hawed. Finally Brad said, "Look, just tell us the truth. We have reason to believe that our daughter is still in the school. Is anyone in there alive?" The driver answered, "Okay, I'll give it to you straight. There is no one left alive."

    Desperate as it seems, I was still not ready to give in, even then. There's always a chance she's hiding in a closet somewhere, I told Brad, or that she's one of the injured who wasn't accounted for at the hospital. You never know. They think they have their facts straight, but that doesn't mean they do.

    It was twenty-two hours later, on Thursday, around two o'clock in the morning, that my defenses finally collapsed. The phone rang, and a woman from the coroner's office told us what we had been dreading, though expecting, to hear. They had Cassie's body. Now there was nothing to do but admit that our daughter was really gone forever, that she would never come home to me again. But how can a mother do that? I wept again, as I had never wept before.


* * *


From what I have since been told, it must have been about eleven-fifteen that morning when Cassie walked into the high school library, backpack on her shoulder, to do her latest homework assignment — another installment of Macbeth for English class. Crystal, a close friend, was in the library too:


Sara, Seth, and I had just gone over to the library to study, like any other day. We had been there maybe five minutes, when a teacher came running in, yelling that there were kids with guns in the hall. At first we were like, "It's a joke, a senior prank." Seth said, "Relax, it's just paint balls." Then we heard shots, first down the hall, then coming closer and closer. Mrs. Nielsen was yelling at us to get under the tables, but no one listened. Then a kid came in and dropped to the floor. There was blood all over his shoulder. We got under our table, fast. Mrs. Nielsen was at the phone by now, calling 911. Seth was holding me in his arms, with his hand on my head, because I was shaking so badly, and Sara was huddled under there with us too, holding on to my legs. Then Eric and Dylan came into the library, shooting and saying things like, "We've been waiting to do this our whole lives," and cheering after each shot.
I had no idea who they were — I only found out their names afterward — but their voices sounded scary, evil. At the same time they seemed so happy, like they were playing a game and getting a good kick out of it. Then they came up to our table and knocked a chair over. It hit my arm, and then it hit Sara on the head. They were right above us. I could hardly breathe, I was so scared. Then they suddenly left the room, probably to reload. It seemed like they had run out of ammunition. That's when we ran for it. We dashed out a side door of the library, an emergency exit, and made it just before they came back in.


Crystal lost track of Cassie once the shooters entered the room, and there are conflicting versions of what she was doing. One student remembers seeing her under a table, hands clasped in prayer; another says she remained seated. Josh, a sophomore who spoke with me a few weeks after the incident, did not see her at all, but he says he will never forget what he heard as he crouched under a desk about twenty-five feet away:


I couldn't see anything when those guys came up to Cassie, but I could recognize her voice. I could hear everything like it was right next to me. One of them asked her if she believed in God. She paused, like she didn't know what she was going to answer, and then she said yes. She must have been scared, but her voice didn't sound shaky. It was strong. Then they asked her why, though they didn't give her a chance to respond. They just blew her away.


Josh says that the way the boys questioned Cassie made him wonder whether she was visibly praying.


I don't understand why they'd pop that question on someone who wasn't. She could've been talking to them, it's hard to tell. I know they were talking the whole time they were in the library. They went over to Isaiah and taunted him. They called him a nigger before they killed him. Then they started laughing and cheering. It was like a big game for them. Then they left the room, so I got up, grabbed my friend Brittany by the hand and started to run. The next thing I remember is pushing her through the door and flying out after her ...


One of the first officials on the scene the next day was Gary, a member of our church and an investigator from the Jefferson County sheriff's department:


When we got to the school they divided us up into seven teams of investigators. All of the victims who had been killed had been left in place overnight, because the investigators wanted to make sure that everything was documented before they collected the evidence.
As soon as I entered the library I saw Cassie. I knew it was her immediately. She was lying under a table close to another girl. Cassie had been shot in the head at very close range. In fact, the bullet wound indicated that the muzzle was touching her skin. She may have put a hand up to protect herself, because the tip of one finger was blown away, but she couldn't have had time to do more. That blast took her instantly.


* * *


The gap between April 20 and the present grows a little wider with every passing day, but the details refuse to fade. Sometimes the images surface so vividly, it seems like it all happened yesterday. Doctors say the brain forgets pain, and that may be so. I am not sure the heart forgets. If there is any reassurance to be found in the recesses of the mind, it may be in those happy, simple things that held us together as a family during the last week of Cassie's life. Though uneventful in themselves, they are strangely satisfying to hang on to, and comforting to replay.

    A few weeks earlier Brad and I had taken the kids up to Breckenridge, a nearby ski resort, for spring break, and because we still had unused tickets, we had decided to let Cassie and Chris take a day off from school (something we "never" do) to make use of them. So there they were, going off to Breck on a Thursday, and as I watched them leave the house with their snowboards, I stood there thinking how my brothers and I had never done anything like that, and how special it was that my children were close enough not only to get along, but to enjoy each other's company in an activity they both loved.

    Friday they both were back at school, and Saturday was prom night. Cassie did not have a date, nor did her best friend, Amanda, but both gifts were determined to have a good time anyway:


We couldn't go to the prom because we didn't have dates because we're losers, but the place where my mom works was putting on this big banquet that night at the Marriott, so Cass and I decided to dress up and do our hair and be beautiful and go there instead. We had the greatest time.


Late that Saturday night Cassie called me from the Marriott to tell me what a good time she was having with Amanda and her mother, Jill, and to say that she was planning to stop off at the house and go to the after-prom at the high school. Next thing I knew she was rattling through the house with Amanda, banging the drawers as she looked for a new set of clothes, and telling me she thought they'd be home early, because they weren't sure how it would go. As it turned out, she got home at six in the morning.

    Monday was Monday. Cassie was behind on her homework and had tons to do, because she'd been playing all weekend. Normally she babysat for friends of mine, but this week they didn't need her, so we all ate together, which isn't unusual in our home, but not something we do every night. After dinner she stayed up with her homework.

    Looking back on that last evening of Cassie's life, I still see her sitting there in the kitchen. She hadn't done her chores yet, and I'm sure I nagged at her. Now that she's gone it's painful to admit. So is my belated recognition that our relationship, though generally good, was not ideal — not that night, nor any other. But it's too late to agonize over what could have been.

    Perhaps the cruelest irony of losing Cassie the way we did is the fact that she never would have been at Columbine that day in the first place, had we not tried to rescue her by pulling her out of another high school, the one where she had begun the ninth grade, just two-and-a-half years before. Of course, at that time our relationship was frayed almost beyond repair, and it felt like a minor victory every time we got her home from school in one piece, let alone into the kitchen for a mundane event like a family meal or an evening of homework. But that's another chapter.

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Table of Contents

Foreword xiii
1. Tuesday 1
2. Daddy's girl 17
3. Murder, she wrote 35
4. Home front 57
5. U-Turn 77
6. The trials of love 87
7. Dying we live 113
8. Reflections 125
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First Chapter

Sometimes a thunderbolt will shoot from a clear sky; and sometimes, into the midst of a peaceful family — without warning of gathered storm above or slightest tremble of earthquake beneath — will fall a terrible fact, and from that moment everything is changed. The air is thick with cloud, and cannot weep itself clear. There may come a gorgeous sunset, though.
george macdonald


1. tuesday

April 20, 1999, started like any other school day in our house. At five forty-five Brad, my husband, left for work, and a little later I got up to wake the kids. Getting teenagers out of bed is always a small battle, but that Tuesday was especially difficult. Cassie had stayed up late the night before catching up on homework, and her books were all over the kitchen table. Her cat's litter box needed attention, too, and we were running late with breakfast. I remember trying not to lecture her about all the things that needed doing before she left for school.

About seven-twenty Chris kissed me goodbye, or at least gave me his cheek, which is what it's gone to lately (he's fifteen) and clattered down the stairs and out of the house. Cassie stopped at the door to put on her shoes — her beloved black velvet Doc Martens, which she wore rain or shine, even with dresses — grabbed her backpack, and headed after her brother. As she left I leaned over the banister to say goodbye, like I always do: "Bye, Cass. I love you." "Love you too, Mom," she mumbled back. Then she was gone, through the backyard, over the fence, and across the soccer field to the high school, which is only a hundred yards away. I dressed, made myself a cup of coffee, locked up, and drove off to work.

Around lunchtime I got a call from Charlie, a friend, asking me if I'd heard about some shooting at the high school. I said no. I tried not to panic: for one thing, it didn't seem like anything Cassie or Chris would be involved in. Probably just some kids facing off in the parking lot, or a drive-by on Pierce Street. For another, my coffee buddy, Val, and I had just picked up lunch at a local market, and we were ready to eat. Besides, I had always thought of Columbine as a safe school. Wasn't it?...I decided to call Brad, just in case he had heard anything.

Brad was at the house when I called; he had left work early and gone home sick. When he picked up the phone, I told him what I had heard, and he said he had just gotten similar news from Kathy, a friend at work. Brad had also heard several pops outside, and one or two louder booms, but he wasn't too concerned. It was lunch time, and there were always kids running around outdoors. Probably just some prankster setting off firecrackers.

After I hung up, Brad put on his shoes, went out to the backyard, and looked over the fence. There were cops everywhere. Back in the house he turned on the TV and caught what must have been the first news bulletins. Shortly after that the first live coverage was aired. All at once the pieces came together, and he realized that this was no prank:


My eyes were still glued to the tube, but I knelt at the corner of the couch and asked God to take care of all those children. Naturally, my thoughts were focused on our kids, on Cassie and Chris, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I was sure they were both okay. It seems that if something were to happen to someone so close to you, you would sense something, feel something. I didn't.


The next thirty-six hours were pure hell. By the time I got to Columbine, hundreds of desperate parents and relatives, police officers, bomb squads, reporters, and onlookers had already descended on the area around the school, and complete pandemonium reigned.

Enough facts had emerged for us to know the seriousness of the situation, but the details were disjointed, contradictory, and confusing. All we knew for sure was that two unidentified armed gunmen had gone on a rampage through the school, mowing down students and boasting as they went. Everyone was frantically looking for someone; people were crying, praying, hugging each other, or just standing there stupidly, staring numbly as the whole chaotic scene unwound around them.

Many of the families with children at Columbine were shepherded to Leawood, a nearby elementary school, to await word from the police as to their safety; others of us were stuck at a public library, because Leawood couldn't take any more people.

It was like a battle zone. Soon lists of the injured and safe were being printed out and distributed. In between scanning the latest updates I ran breathlessly from one cluster of students to another yelling for Cassie and Chris and asking if anyone had seen them. Searching the school grounds itself was out of the question, of course. The whole campus was cordoned off and surrounded by an eerie ring of rifle-carrying SWAT teams.

Chris showed up early in the afternoon; he had fled to a neighbor's home near the high school and finally got through to Brad, who was stationed by the phone at home. Brad reached me on my cell phone. Immediately I breathed easier: Thank God; now we only have to look for one child. But the relief did not last more than a second or two, as my thoughts raced back to Cassie. Where was my daughter?

Though hundreds of fleeing students had been loaded into buses and driven off to safety in the immediate aftermath of the shooting, others, like Chris, had escaped the mayhem on foot, and in some cases it was hours before their whereabouts were confirmed. The injured, many of them unidentified, had been rushed off in ambulances, and dozens of others hid for hours in closets and classrooms throughout the building. Some, we found out later, were lying alone bleeding to death.

Around five o'clock those of us still waiting for news of our children at the public library were told that one last busload of students was on its way from the high school, and we should go over to Leawood to meet it. Brad and Chris had joined me earlier in the afternoon, and immediately we jumped into the car and drove toward the school as fast as we could.

Although our destination was only a few blocks away, it was a terrible drive. Nearly every street near the high school had been barricaded, and the few that were still open to traffic were clogged with TV trucks and vans from every media outlet in Denver. Overhead, TV helicopters clattered, and in front of us and behind us sirens wailed. My heart was pounding so hard, I could hardly bear the anxiety.

Finally, we got to Leawood. Jumping from the car, I craned my neck to look first one way down the street, then the other. No bus. We waited. Minutes passed, and we kept checking and rechecking the street. Still no bus. Finally, it dawned on us: there was no "last busload" coming. I was beside myself; distraught beyond words. Up to that point I had still hoped for the best, but now? I felt deceived. Not intentionally, perhaps, but deceived nonetheless, and so bitterly that it almost choked me.

Weeks later we heard the police were certain that all the missing were dead as early as eight o'clock that evening; that they had accounted for everyone else. But because they didn't have positive confirmation, they hadn't said this, and so I continued to grasp at straws. Maybe she's hiding somewhere, I tried to convince myself. She's always been resourceful, and might have found a good place. I just hope she's not hurt. Or: It's better she's hurt than dead. If she's injured she can at least be helped. But she's got to make it through the night, or at least until somebody gets to her...Hope is really the only thing that will keep you going in such a crisis, even if it's a thin shred.

By nine-thirty I couldn't stand the tension any longer, and since the police were not giving out any new information, Brad and I decided to go home. It wasn't that we felt like giving up; that wasn't at all the case. But what was the point of hanging around Leawood the rest of the night? Back at the house Brad climbed on top of the garden shed in our yard. He wanted to see for himself what was going on in the school:


Standing on the roof of that shed I could see the whole school. Using binoculars I could even see right into the library windows. I could see the yellow letters stamped on the blue coats of the ATF men; they were walking around in there, heads down, as if looking for something. I couldn't really see what they were doing, but I guess they were stepping over bodies, looking for explosives. Later we heard that they found dozens of bombs...


Around ten-thirty or eleven there was an explosion from the direction of the high school. We rushed up the stairs to Cassie's bedroom to see if we could see flames or smoke or anything else from her window, but we couldn't. Nothing but blackness, and the low red and blue flashes of police cars and fire trucks on Pierce Street. It must have been a bomb detonating. I was shaking with fear and dread. What if Cassie was still alive?

Gradually fatigue overtook me, and I tried to go to sleep. It was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, a new nightmare would jolt me awake. Again and again I saw Cassie. Cassie huddled in some dark closet, wondering if it was safe to come out; Cassie lying cold on some hallway floor, bleeding to death; Cassie crying out for help, with no one to comfort her. How I longed to hold her, to stroke her head, to wrap myself around her and hug and cry and laugh and squeeze her tight! The agony of her absence, and the emptiness of her room, was almost more than I could take.

I had taken Cassie's pillow from her bed, and as the tears came I hugged it and buried my face in it and breathed in her scent. Cassie's scent. My baby's scent. I have never cried so long, or so hard.

Around three-thirty in the morning I finally got up and dressed, and Brad walked with me down Polk to the corner, where the first sheriff's car was sitting. Thinking the driver might have something new to tell us, we asked him several pointed questions, but he only hemmed and hawed. Finally Brad said, "Look, just tell us the truth. We have reason to believe that our daughter is still in the school. Is anyone in there alive?" The driver answered, "Okay, I'll give it to you straight. There is no one left alive."

Desperate as it seems, I was still not ready to give in, even then. There's always a chance she's hiding in a closet somewhere, I told Brad, or that she's one of the injured who wasn't accounted for at the hospital. You never know. They think they have their facts straight, but that doesn't mean they do.

It was twenty-two hours later, on Thursday, around two o'clock in the morning, that my defenses finally collapsed. The phone rang, and a woman from the coroner's office told us what we had been dreading, though expecting, to hear. They had Cassie's body. Now there was nothing to do but admit that our daughter was really gone forever, that she would never come home to me again. But how can a mother do that? I wept again, as I had never wept before.


> From what I have since been told, it must have been about eleven-fifteen that morning when Cassie walked into the high school library, backpack on her shoulder, to do her latest homework assignment — another installment of Macbeth for English class. Crystal, a close friend, was in the library too:


Sara, Seth, and I had just gone over to the library to study, like any other day. We had been there maybe five minutes, when a teacher came running in, yelling that there were kids with guns in the hall. At first we were like, "It's a joke, a senior prank." Seth said, "Relax, it's just paint balls." Then we heard shots, first down the hall, then coming closer and closer. Mrs. Nielsen was yelling at us to get under the tables, but no one listened. Then a kid came in and dropped to the floor. There was blood all over his shoulder. We got under our table, fast. Mrs. Nielsen was at the phone by now, calling 911. Seth was holding me in his arms, with his hand on my head, because I was shaking so badly, and Sara was huddled under there with us too, holding on to my legs. Then Eric and Dylan came into the library, shooting and saying things like, "We've been waiting to do this our whole lives," and cheering after each shot.

I had no idea who they were — I only found out their names afterward — but their voices sounded scary, evil. At the same time they seemed so happy, like they were playing a game and getting a good kick out of it. Then they came up to our table and knocked a chair over. It hit my arm, and then it hit Sara on the head. They were right above us. I could hardly breathe, I was so scared. Then they suddenly left the room, probably to reload. It seemed like they had run out of ammunition. That's when we ran for it. We dashed out a side door of the library, an emergency exit, and made it just before they came back in.


Crystal lost track of Cassie once the shooters entered the room, and there are conflicting versions of what she was doing. One student remembers seeing her under a table, hands clasped in prayer; another says she remained seated. Josh, a sophomore who spoke with me a few weeks after the incident, did not see her at all, but he says he will never forget what he heard as he crouched under a desk about twenty-five feet away:


>

I couldn't see anything when those guys came up to Cassie, but I could recognize her voice. I could hear everything like it was right next to me. One of them asked her if she believed in God. She paused, like she didn't know what she was going to answer, and then she said yes. She must have been scared, but her voice didn't sound shaky. It was strong. Then they asked her why, though they didn't give her a chance to respond. They just blew her away.


Josh says that the way the boys questioned Cassie made him wonder whether she was visibly praying.


I don't understand why they'd pop that question on someone who wasn't. She could've been talking to them, it's hard to tell. I know they were talking the whole time they were in the library. They went over to Isaiah and taunted him. They called him a nigger before they killed him. Then they started laughing and cheering. It was like a big game for them. Then they left the room, so I got up, grabbed my friend Brittany by the hand and started to run. The next thing I remember is pushing her through the door and flying out after her...


. One of the first officials on the scene the next day was Gary, a member of our church and an investigator from the Jefferson County sheriff's department:


When we got to the school they divided us up into seven teams of investigators. All of the victims who had been killed had been left in place overnight, because the investigators wanted to make sure that everything was documented before they collected the evidence.

As soon as I entered the library I saw Cassie. I knew it was her immediately. She was lying under a table close to another girl. Cassie had been shot in the head at very close range. In fact, the bullet wound indicated that the muzzle was touching her skin. She may have put a hand up to protect herself, because the tip of one finger was blown away, but she couldn't have had time to do more. That blast took her instantly.


The gap between April 20 and the present grows a little wider with every passing day, but the details refuse to fade. Sometimes the images surface so vividly, it seems like it all happened yesterday. Doctors say the brain forgets pain, and that may be so. I am not sure the heart forgets. If there is any reassurance to be found in the recesses of the mind, it may be in those happy, simple things that held us together as a family during the last week of Cassie's life. Though uneventful in themselves, they are strangely satisfying to hang on to, and comforting to replay.

A few weeks earlier Brad and I had taken the kids up to Breckenridge, a nearby ski resort, for spring break, and because we still had unused tickets, we had decided to let Cassie and Chris take a day off from school (something we "never" do) to make use of them. So there they were, going off to Breck on a Thursday, and as I watched them leave the house with their snowboards, I stood there thinking how my brothers and I had never done anything like that, and how special it was that my children were close enough not only to get along, but to enjoy each other's company in an activity they both loved.

Friday they both were back at school, and Saturday was prom night. Cassie did not have a date, nor did her best friend, Amanda, but both girls were determined to have a good time anyway:

We couldn't go to the prom because we didn't have dates because we're losers, but the place where my mom works was putting on this big banquet that night at the Marriott, so Cass and I decided to dress up and do our hair and be beautiful and go there instead. We had the greatest time.

Late that Saturday night Cassie called me from the Marriott to tell me what a good time she was having with Amanda and her mother, Jill, and to say that she was planning to stop off at the house and go to the after-prom at the high school. Next thing I knew she was rattling through the house with Amanda, banging the drawers as she looked for a new set of clothes, and telling me she thought they'd be home early, because they weren't sure how it would go. As it turned out, she got home at six in the morning.

Monday was Monday. Cassie was behind on her homework and had tons to do, because she'd been playing all weekend. Normally she babysat for friends of mine, but this week they didn't need her, so we all ate together, which isn't unusual in our home, but not something we do every night. After dinner she stayed up with her homework.

Looking back on that last evening of Cassie's life, I still see her sitting there in the kitchen. She hadn't done her chores yet, and I'm sure I nagged at her. Now that she's gone it's painful to admit. So is my belated recognition that our relationship, though generally good, was not ideal — not that night, nor any other. But it's too late to agonize over what could have been.

Perhaps the cruelest irony of losing Cassie the way we did is the fact that she never would have been at Columbine that day in the first place, had we not tried to rescue her by pulling her out of another high school, the one where she had begun the ninth grade, just two-and-a-half years before. Of course, at that time our relationship was frayed almost beyond repair, and it felt like a minor victory every time we got her home from school in one piece, let alone into the kitchen for a mundane event like a family meal or an evening of homework. But that's another chapter.

Copyright © 1999 by Misty Bernall

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 52 )
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(45)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 52 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 7, 2000

    It gave hope to those who need it

    This book was the best book I have read in a long time. It gives hope that any life, no matter how far from God, can be turned around. Cassie didn't have a perfict life and that is real, I dont think I would have beleaved it if Misty Bernall didnt put in the part where Cassie hung out with the wrong crowd. It inspired me to try to be a little nicer to the people that I care most about. The Question is would you have said yes if you were asked that question?

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2006

    OMG Its Sad, But A Good Book

    That Is Messed Up What Them Kids Did. But Thats Life. You Should Really Read This Book!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 24, 2004

    This book is so heart-breaking!

    This book is the best book i have ever read. God bless the parents and brother of Cassie Bernall! I loved this book! I do not want to offence the parents and brother but i do not no what i would do if i lost a family member especcially my sister!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 10, 2003

    heart lifting

    This is one of the best books ever, even though it is truley one of the saddest stories i have ever read, I reccomend it to all parents and their children.It is truley the BEST!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 22, 2003

    a lurlene macdaniel and cassie fan

    its very sad but excellent filled with hope

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 3, 2003

    a devoted Cassie fan!!

    i love Cassie Bernall's story....she is truly an inspiration and example to me, as she was to one of my struggling friends....thank you, Brad and Misty Bernall, and God bless you and your son!!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 2, 2003

    MaJoRaLlY ToUcHiNg!!!

    One of the most touching and inspiring books I've ever read. I love the fact that she found the god inside herself, and was willing to die for that god. My thanks to her mother for writing this book. It changed me, read it and hopefully it will move, change, and inspire you too to become a better person. Thanks so much for the inspiration!!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 2, 2001

    I LOVE THIS BOOK!

    This book was the best book I have ever read. It has everything you want. I cried and felt the struggle the Mother and Father must have went through when she past. It has made me more of a believer of God. So thanks Mrs. Bernall.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2001

    Sad!!

    This is such an amazing book, for anyone who can handle it. I'm glad it gave such a postive message of faith, and of all the victims of Columbine, Cassie definatly sticks out in my mind. It also shows how important your last words to somebody are, and I'm glad Cassies mom's were I love you. Watch out though, I was on the first chapter and cryin!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2001

    We have a Winner

    his was a wonderful and touching book. I could read it again.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 2, 2001

    Wonderful, Tearful

    This book brought so many tears to my eyes. I never heard the actuall descriptions of what that school looked like post-shootings until I read this, and it made me cry so much I had to put the book down. This book opened my eyes so much. I too have gone through the stage where I do not know if I believe in God or not, but after reading this book it opened my eyes so much that I began reading my bible again. I still have my questions, and I do not think they will ever get answered, but this is the book that inspired me to go back to how I began. Believing. Every teenager who is questioning the religous ways should read this. It could help you a lot on your questions. I loved this book so much, and it really made me feel what she felt. I would like to give all thanks to Cassie's mother for spending her time on this because it helped me, and I am sure many others, a lot. Thankyou!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 17, 2001

    Amazing Turnaround of a Troubled Teen

    I thought that it was one of the best books that I have read. I was really shocked how she turned around from being on the wrong path in life. I wish all parents had the strength to help their troubled kids like Cassie's parents helped her. I respect her and her parents for all that they did.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 10, 2001

    She Said Yes

    She Said Yes is about the Columbine High School Shooting. It is about a girl named Cassie Bernall that had her ups and downs in her life, like most people do. The only thing different was that hers were not good at all. The author is her mother, Misty. This book is a very sad story about Cassie getting shot in the school because she said yes that she believed in God to the shooters. This is a great book and everyone should read it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 6, 2000

    The book I read was AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    I think that She Said Yes was one of the best books I have read. It shows the true side of being a teenager. I think that it took so much courage to say yes to her killers. I thought the title was awesome. Misty Bernall did an awesome job with it. I think that it is a must read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2000

    My beliefs and feelings toward this book

    To me Cassie is a true hero of what she had said and i'm not sure i would have the same courage to say yes in front of two killers. She has been a hero not only in America but all over the world. She has fought not only to live but also go through the troubles of doing drugs and hanging out with the wrong croud. She has given hope not only to me but to others who really were in need of it. I recommend this book to people of all ages and hope they will enjoy this book as i did. THANK YOU CASSIE!!!!!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 29, 2000

    My Insperation

    This book talks about a girl named Cassie Bernall that died at Columbine High school , the book talks about her life from going from drugs to jesus christ and because of her faith in jesus christ she died that day April 20,1999 because she said yes

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 18, 2000

    Would you say yes?

    I think this book was very good. Very Sad. Cassie is such a great role model. Since i have heard of this story I think more people need to get invloed with God. Think about it, if madmen held a gun up to your head and asked you Do you belive in God? What would you say? Saying yes well cost you your life and saying no won't. What do you belive in?

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2000

    I say Yes!

    I first read She Said Yes last Dec. and fell in love with Cassie's Story. She leads a journey or courage and has to face the final test she never dreamed of. As a teenager today I know what peer pressure is and Cassie's way of dealing with peer pressure today is amazing. I admire her courage and will carry her story in my mind and in my heart!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 20, 2000

    Great!

    This book was wonderful! I loved it! I hope that anyone that gets the chance will read this book.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 14, 2000

    She Said Yes: The Unlikely Martyrdom of Cassie Bernall

    I am a father and a youth counselor. The kids in my youth group have funded and given away over 70 copies of this book at their public high school. Inside each book they have glued a little note that tells the reader to sign their name in the book and pass it on to a friend when they have finished. This way the message of Cassie's story lives on and on. We got the idea from a mother/daughter team in Ohio who are doing the same thing. Similar things are happening all over there are 500,000 copies in circulation now! It is a great book and it is changing lives. People who have been moved by it should spread the word to others. That's how we can do our part. April 20 is the anniversary of the tragedy. It would be great if thousands of lives could be touched on that day with a gift of this book.

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