Ivette Cerna, pictured Monday during a visit to the Community Healing Garden, says the Oct. 1, 2017, mass shooting taught her to relish each day. “I don’t take anything for granted because nothing is given,” said Cerna, who was in the concert crowd three years ago.
Wednesday, Sept. 30, 2020 | 2 a.m.
Ivette Cerna was sitting next to a few of the kindergarten students she teaches as the bus traveled south on the Las Vegas Strip for a field trip to Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay.
As the bus got closer to the resort, Cerna looked out the window and saw a sight she was hoping to never see again: The vacant land that served as the Route 91 Harvest music festival grounds across from the property.
Cerna was one of the approximately 22,000 concertgoers who lived through the mass shooting Oct. 1, 2017, when a gunman opened fire from his hotel suite overlooking the grounds. Fifty-eight people were killed, more than 500 were wounded, and all in attendance undoubtedly affected for life. Thursday marks the third year since the shooting, and the hurt is still fresh.
Seeing the grounds brought back painful memories — the sounds of bullets and screaming, the blood, fear and suffering. Maybe the Converse shoe she lost running from the bullets was still on the side of the road.
Cerna uncontrollably broke into tears, which caught the students off guard because she’s usually smiling and full of energy. She’s the one caring for them.
But on this day the roles were reversed, as the students were trying to comfort the crying teacher.
“I don’t like that pity look,” Cerna, 28, said. “You always put your best face on and try to be a good example for the kids, no matter how bad your day is.”
I’ve known Cerna for about six years, ever since my son was one of her students at Saint Anne Catholic School. We’ve worked school events together and had a few long talks. Not once did she mention being part of the worst day in Las Vegas history. It’s understandable.
She despises the labels “victim” and “survivor,” and she doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her or treat her differently. Talking about that night brings back painful memories, as she is constantly battling with unexpected panic attacks and a variety of emotions.
Ivette Cerna holds her Route 91 Harvest music festival three-day pass in her right hand. On her right arm is a commemorative tattoo with the Roman numerals for Oct. 1, 2017.
It’s so bad that Cerna often has trouble sleeping and asks her mother to stay in her room.
“I look at life differently now,” she said. “I don’t take anything for granted because nothing is given.”
She remembers diving on the pavement with her best friend as the bullets rained down on attendees. A woman behind her was shot.
They made their way to the nearby hotel where they were staying for the weekend, and it was pure chaos. People, scared for their life, jammed in the elevator. When Cerna and her friend got in, blood was everywhere. Eventually, they were safe in their room.
The shooting was over after about nine minutes. The suffering was just beginning.
She went weeks without talking to the friend with whom she attended the festival. They now share matching tattoos with the shooting date in Roman numerals on their arms, and they still attend concerts together. The shooter couldn’t take their passion for country music.
When Cerna eats out, she makes sure to get a seat with a full view of the restaurant. She knows the quickest way to the nearest exit. It’s the same strategy when attending church, the movies or a concert.
“I’m always aware of the exits,” she said.
You’ll surely hear the words “Vegas Strong” on Thursday during remembrance events. For Cerna and others who are living in the aftermath, it’s not just a saying — it’s a way of life.
It takes great strength to answer the bell every day and live life to its fullest, especially on days when there is a mass-casualty shooting in the world. Those have happened at churches, schools and shopping malls, and it’s easy for a shooting victim to feel overwhelmed when seeing the horror in media reports.
It’s just fine to have a bad day, especially when your support system — for Cerna, it’s her family and the children she teaches — unknowingly provides inspiration.
She’s learned that all days are a reason to celebrate and listen to your favorite music, even if a song brings flashbacks to what happened on Oct. 1.
“A sense of innocence was taking from me,” she said. “I used to think everyone was good. Now I walk around thinking everyone looks suspicious.”
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