“Lord, I thank you for 12 years and 11 months with you.” 💔
Those were the words Pastor Abel Mwansa wrote to his son, Abel Mwansa Jr., just 12 years old — a boy he described as gentle, disciplined, and devoted to his studies. A “good kid,” he said. The kind who never missed school. The kind who carried quiet promise.
Hours later, that same schoolyard in Tumbler Ridge became the site of unimaginable horror.
Gunfire shattered the ordinary rhythm of the afternoon. What should have been the sound of laughter, backpacks zipping, and friends saying goodbye turned into sirens, screams, and chaos. By the time the violence ended, eight people were dead and dozens more were injured, leaving families scrambling for answers and clinging to one another in disbelief.
Among those who did not come home was Abel Mwansa Jr.
Also lost was 12-year-old Kylie May, remembered by her family as “a beautiful, kind, innocent soul.” She had dreams still forming, a future still unfolding. Like Abel, she had simply gone to school that day — never knowing it would be her last.
Parents waited outside barricades for news. Phones rang without answers. Names were read aloud in trembling voices. In a matter of minutes, an entire community was forced to confront the unbearable.
Tumbler Ridge is a small town — the kind where neighbors know each other, where children grow up together, where the schoolyard feels like an extension of home. Now that space is marked by grief.
Pastor Mwansa’s words — written in gratitude before tragedy struck — have since echoed far beyond his church. They are both a farewell and a reminder: childhood is precious, fragile, and never guaranteed.
Just one afternoon.
An entire town lost its sense of safety.
Families lost their children.
And Tumbler Ridge lost a piece of its future that can never be replaced.