In the quiet, beeping confines of the pediatric ICU at BC Children’s Hospital in Vancouver, Cia Edmonds leans over her daughter Maya’s bed, her voice cracking as she shares yet another raw, intimate update with a world that has wrapped its arms around them. “My heart is broken, but Maya moon is still here…” she wrote in a recent emotional post, capturing the exquisite agony of a mother watching her 12-year-old fight for every breath after the unimaginable horror of the Tumbler Ridge school shooting on February 10, 2026.
Maya Gebala, the brave Grade 7 student who heroically tried to secure the library door to shield her classmates from the gunman, remains in critical condition. Bullet fragments and debris are still lodged in her brain, complicating her recovery from severe gunshot wounds to the head and neck. Yet, amid the devastation, there are tender signs of progress: clearer, more deliberate movements on her left side, weak but noticeable blinking, and reduced brain swelling following emergency surgery. These incremental victories—described by Cia as glimpses of her “Maya Moon”—offer a fragile thread of hope to a family clinging to life itself.
The latest update from Cia, shared via social media and the family’s GoFundMe page (which has surpassed $420,000 in donations for medical costs, travel, and support), details a poignant “first whispers” moment that has moved thousands to tears. As Cia gently massaged Maya’s feet and spoke softly to her—recounting stories of home, hockey games, and their shared love for the stars—Maya responded with faint, almost imperceptible sounds. Not full words, but soft exhalations and murmurs that her mother interpreted as her daughter’s way of whispering back, “I’m still here.” “Those little whispers tugged at every string in my heart,” Cia wrote, her post accompanied by a photo of her resting her head beside Maya’s still form. “She’s fighting so hard, and in that moment, I felt her trying to reach me. My baby is in there.”
This emotional breakthrough comes after days of guarded optimism. Following surgery to relieve pressure and manage bleeding, Maya’s brain swelling has noticeably decreased, allowing doctors to ease some sedation. Her left arm and leg now lift with more purpose against gravity—twitches evolving into purposeful motions—while her right side remains largely unresponsive due to the damage on that hemisphere. Weak blinking has appeared, sometimes seeming to track her mother’s voice or the light in the room, though vision remains uncertain. She initiates small breaths on her own at times, though the ventilator is still essential, and a feeding tube has been placed as her body works to heal.
Doctors continue to temper expectations. The bullet’s path caused extensive trauma, including to the brainstem and surrounding tissue, raising concerns about long-term neurological effects, mobility, cognition, and basic functions. “There is still a bullet inside her. There are still fragments in her brain,” Cia acknowledged in one update. “She still cannot breathe on her own fully.” Neurosurgeons from across Canada are set to review her scans and case in the coming days, potentially offering new insights or interventions. For now, the family navigates hour-by-hour shifts, celebrating small wins while bracing for setbacks.
Maya’s story has become a beacon of resilience in the wake of one of Canada’s most devastating school shootings. The 18-year-old shooter, Jesse Van Rootselaar, killed her mother and 11-year-old half-brother at home before heading to Tumbler Ridge Secondary School. There, in the library where Maya and other Grade 7 students had gathered, the attacker opened fire, killing five children—Able Mwansa, Kylie Smith, Zoey Benoit, Ticaria Lampert (all 12), and 13-year-old Ezekiel Schofield—plus 39-year-old education assistant Shannda Aviugana-Durand. Another victim was found in a stairwell. The shooter died by suicide as police closed in.
Maya’s act of bravery—rushing to barricade the malfunctioning library door instead of hiding—likely bought precious seconds for others to take cover. “She didn’t run away; she ran toward the danger for her friends,” her father, David Gebala, has said. Now, that same tenacity fuels her fight. Cia often calls her “stubborn” in the most affectionate way, noting how Maya has defied initial grim prognoses that included end-of-life discussions and organ donation considerations.
The broader community response has been overwhelming. Fundraisers for all victims and families have exceeded $3 million. Hockey leagues across Canada have rallied, sending jerseys, sticks, and messages to Maya, a passionate player. Cards, letters, and gifts flood her hospital room—addressed simply to “Maya, Unit 304, 827 W 16th St, North Vancouver, BC V7P 1R2″—which Cia reads aloud daily, believing the love helps “call her back.” Survivors like 19-year-old Paige Hoekstra, shot in the chest, have been discharged and are heading home, offering tangible proof of healing amid grief.
Tumbler Ridge itself—a small, former mining town nestled in the Rockies—continues to mourn while rebuilding. Vigils, memorials with candles and flowers, and support services address collective trauma. In the provincial legislature and national media, tributes honor the victims and highlight the need for rural mental health resources and school safety measures.
For Cia and David, every update is a balance of heartbreak and determination. “My heart is broken, but Maya moon is still here,” Cia repeats like a mantra. Those first whispers, the clearer left-side movements, the reduced swelling—they are proof of life persisting. As the family endures this long, uncertain road, supported by a nation’s prayers and love, Maya’s quiet fight reminds us all of the extraordinary strength found in the smallest signs of hope.
