National
Tragic coda: Years after a triple murder gutted a family, one last death is mourned

By Kathleen McLaughlin
November 18, 2019 at 10:28 a.m. EST

BOZEMAN, Mont. — Hours before the snow began falling in a sudden autumn blizzard, three siblings gathered beneath the tall pines of the city cemetery. They were there to bury their little brother, the final victim of a murderous rampage that more than three decades earlier claimed their parents and grandmother. ... The killer had been a stranger, a 16-year-old boy who lived a house away in the eastern Montana town of Glendive. On a frigid midnight just days before Thanksgiving, he showed up at their front door, barged in and started firing.

It’s difficult today, in an era of gun violence and mass shootings, to grasp how much his crime shocked an entire state and shattered two communities hundreds of miles apart. In 1987, Montana was a relatively safe, far-flung web of small cities and towns, with less than a million people total. It was a place where families routinely left their doors unlocked. That began to change. ... The killer would go on to become the most prolific murderer in modern Montana history before hanging himself in prison. The 9-year-old boy he attacked would survive, though with a brain injury and severe psychological trauma that ultimately proved inescapable.

Sean Brooks died in late summer after years of running from the demons of that night. He was until the end a jokester, a charmer, an unflagging friend to the homeless, animals and just about anyone down on their luck. He’d moved far away from Montana and, for a time, had a job he loved and a partner who made him smile. ... Yet, as his brother and two sisters stood graveside, that period of calm seemed like a fleeting, illusory moment. For them and the other relatives and friends at the cemetery, Sean’s death underscored how such violence reverberates for a lifetime. ... “He never had a chance,” said Helen Wilson, the family friend who helped raise him in the tragedy’s aftermath.
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For the three older children who weren’t home that night, the trauma became a kind of background noise. For Sean, the trauma never really receded. He didn’t like being alone anywhere. Even as an adult, he wore his father’s class ring and kept a fading photo in his wallet. It showed him as a toddler, smiling atop his mother’s lap. ... Booze killed him in the end. He drank more and more over the years, leading to more falls, more head injuries, strained friendships, broken relationships. Rehab never worked; his siblings took care of his bills, his housing, his practical matters, but they couldn’t reach in deep enough to pull him out. In his 30s, Sean moved near his brother in Arizona. There he found work and love, only to crash hard when his partner died suddenly and he lost his job.

Not quite two years ago, he learned his liver was failing. A transplant might have saved him, but the operation was impossible if he kept drinking. He couldn’t stop. ... By early August, he was dying. He was unrecognizable from past photos, his handsome face bloated and distorted because of the toxins his liver was unable to filter. He was mostly incoherent. A sometime friend was staying with him, using his debit card to buy him food and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. ... Within a week, his siblings moved Sean into hospice. He died Aug. 19, with all of them at his bedside. He was 41.

“It’s so painful, even after 30-some years,” admitted Sami, who still deals with anxiety that someone she’s close to will die suddenly. “It’s one thing after another with our family. It’s just a constant reminder of the loss.” ... She, Mike and Sherri brought Sean’s ashes home to Montana and buried half with his parents, placing an elegant blue urn in their plot. ... The rest of his remains, they gave to the grand sweep of the Yellowstone River.