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The accidental killing at San Diego’s 10th and J

Christian Anders landed on top of Taylor Kahle

By all accounts, Christian Anders was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.
By all accounts, Christian Anders was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.

On Sunday, April 25, 2021, Taylor Kahle and her date had dinner at Basic Bar & Pizza in East Village — just “Basic” to locals. They ordered Mashed Potato Bacon pizza and a couple of beers (a Miller High Life for her and a Cali Creamin’ for him). “It was her favorite; she had brought him here specifically to try that pizza because it was her favorite,” according to Erik Tesmer, General Manager and part-owner of the restaurant. The evening was much like any other San Diego date night, until it wasn’t. Less than an hour later, Kahle was killed by a suicidal jumper after leaving the bar at the corner of 10th and J Street.

Basic’s surveillance cameras show Kahle and her date leaving the restaurant with leftovers in hand at 7:21 pm. That’s followed by a second video showing them crossing the street, with Kahle’s date walking just slightly ahead of her. They are followed by another couple. After a moment, this second couple begins crossing the street and then the two of them suddenly stop dead in their tracks — at 7:23 pm. After a few beats, the man runs full speed toward Kahle and her date, who are just out of view.

General Manager Tesmer recalls, “I have a security guard friend at the parking garage, and he said that the jumper had to climb the locked gate, and from the time he started climbing to the time he jumped, four minutes passed.” Assuming the man jumped at 7:23, when the second couple stopped in their tracks, this means he was breaking into the garage at about 7:19, two minutes before Kahle and her date left Basic, possibly as they were finishing their last sips of beer and signing the check.


Paul Maxwell, a paramedic with AMR San Diego, was sitting in the passenger seat of the ambulance that evening when the call for “a jumpet [sic]” came in at 7:24 pm — the end of a “low acuity” shift. He had just jokingly asked his paramedic intern, Aaron Frazee, why he “didn’t want to see any critical calls,” as if Frazee had any control over the calls coming in. But by all accounts, the 26-year old was ready and willing for whatever calls came their way. It was his second of a forty-shift rotation as an intern, the last phase before becoming licensed as a paramedic. While 59-year-old Maxwell had been at this for more than half of his life, Frazee had just five years of EMT experience under his belt.

Basic’s surveillance cameras show Kahle and her date leaving the restaurant with leftovers in hand at 7:21 pm. That’s followed by a second video showing them crossing the street, with Kahle’s date walking just slightly ahead of her.

After a brief moment of confusion over the term “jumpet,” during which Frazee quickly scanned his memory for a possible new drug fad (“I’d heard of a whip-it before, but never a jumpet”), the intended meaning of the call became clear. A second line came through: “Ninth story.” For his part, Maxwell knew this was serious: “There was definitely a realization that the nature of this was legitimate. Most of the calls downtown are actually…not legitimate calls...But this clearly was something different.” They drove the two miles or so to the scene, getting there within five minutes of the initial call.


Kent Kahle still lives in the home where he raised his daughter Taylor, and where she spent the last thirteen months of her life. “Life was normal until this happened,” he says. “It was just a normal day. She went out on a date, and I thought at some point she’d be home late. Her date that day, Alex, was somebody new that she had met; she really liked him, they were on their second date. They had spent the day together, they went to the zoo, and went to dinner. They were walking from the restaurant to her car when this happened.”


Taylor Kahle was a professional event planner, and had worked for MacFarlane Promotions for nearly a decade. She is pictured here at one of her events, 2017’s Chula Vista HarborFest.

“It was Sunday when I got the call from Christian. It was 8:03 [am],” says Veronica Goring. Goring is the mother of Christian Anders, the 18-year-old who accidentally killed Kahle when he jumped from the ninth story balcony of the Padres Parkade parking structure at 10th and J. “He wanted to tell me that he loves me, and that he couldn’t be here anymore, [that] ‘The voices are just becoming too much.’ I said, ‘Christian, you know we can get you help, we can get through this.’ It sounded like he was at the trolley station — he didn’t drive, he took the trolley and bus — and I said, ‘Why don’t you just come meet us?’ [My friend and I] were at the swap meet, and he loved the swap meet. He said, ‘Oh, that’d be nice.’ But then he called me back and said, ‘Mom, I’m not coming. I’m just going to go home.’ I went to his house, but then his phone was off. This was still in the morning. I started to panic — his phone is never off. I just knew it wasn’t good.

“I went to the [SDSU] trolley station and looked for him and went downtown. I saw some police officers and let them know exactly what was going on. They said they were going to send an officer to the house, so I went back home. I was literally just driving around, randomly looking for him, and they said, ‘Let us do our job.’ I kept calling and calling, and that’s when I got in touch with the crisis line, which had me call PERT” — the Psychiatric Emergency Response Team.

“I went to his house and talked to his roommates, and they said, ‘Oh, he was just here.’ I called the police back and let them know the roommates saw him. But I feel like I shouldn’t have, because it seemed it was at that point that they stopped looking. I just wanted to be diligent and let them know what was going on. Then the police from SDSU called. I let them know he was at that trolley station at the time, and gave them all the same information — and still nothing.”

18-year-old Christian Anders, accidentally killed Taylor Kahle when he jumped from the ninth story balcony of the Padres Parkade parking structure at 10th and J.

The scene that greeted paramedic Maxwell and intern Frazee upon their arrival was confusing and chaotic. According to Maxwell, “The fire engine was already there but had just got there, so not really anything was done at that point. So we converged with the four of them from the fire engine. This was a busy area of downtown, with diners and people walking their dogs and things like that.”

The paramedics quickly recognized that the person they identified as “patient one,” would not be savable. But “patient two,” the unidentified male involved, still had a heart rhythm. After a few rounds of CPR, he was stable enough to be loaded up for transport. The moment has stayed with Frazee: “I took a mental step back; I took myself out of the call when I had a moment where there wasn’t anything I needed to do, maybe five to ten seconds...and I looked over at this crowd of people who were there, which included patient one’s [date]. And there is just this huge crowd of twenty to thirty people and they are all just looking at us...watching what’s happening. And I remember being on the other side of that caution tape, and I am looking at them thinking, ‘These people don’t see tragedy like this, and so this is very jarring for them. They might have been there before we showed up, and so they are mentally, I am sure, traumatized.’ I was looking at faces of people who were taken aback by what was going on. And then I jumped right back in.”

Kent Kahle (right) still lives in the home where he raised his daughter Taylor (left), and where she spent the last thirteen months of her life. “Life was normal until this happened,” he says.

Upon his arrival at UCSD, “patient two” went into cardiac arrest. They got him into the trauma unit but, despite lifesaving efforts, he died at 8:16 pm., fifty-three minutes after he jumped. “He didn’t have any identification on him, which is a homeless move, since everything gets lifted on the streets,” says Maxwell. “They were probably able to eventually identify him using his fingerprints; I saw the police taking them as we left the hospital. They also have facial recognition software they can use, but I’m not sure if they used it in his case.” As it happened, the teenager wouldn’t be identified for three more days.


The news of his daughter Taylor’s death blindsided Kent Kahle just as he was heading to bed that night, making it feel more like a bad dream: “About 11:15, I was actually on my way to bed and as I was going down the stairs, I thought I heard the doorbell ring. There was a woman standing there, and she was in a county uniform with the badge and everything, and I knew this was something serious. The first thing she asked me was who I was and if I knew Taylor Kahle...and she just came right out with it. She said, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter was killed tonight. She died. A man committed suicide; he jumped off a building and landed on her.’ I wanted to think that I had gone to bed and it was a dream But it wasn’t a dream. I just couldn’t believe it.

Veronica Goring (right), along with Anders’ 22-year old sister, Paij Newborn (left), arranged an “Art-Fashion-Film” Celebration of Life for her son at DoJo Cafe in City Heights, showcasing his latest fashion pieces alongside some of his films and paintings.

“I sure did that whole denial thing that night, when I tried to go to sleep. I just wanted to refuse that this actually happened. I wanted to deny that the medical person even came to my door. I was trying to will it out of my life, to reverse, to not happen. It was so horrific...but boy, it would not go away. And the next morning, it was still there.

“I am a news junkie... Well, one section of the paper is all the traffic accidents, people dying. I always read about motorcyclists, because I ride myself and am interested. So you read it and go, ‘Oh, that’s tragic.’ But it’s always somebody else; some family member is hurting because they lost their family member or spouse. But you turn the page and move on. But this time, it didn’t happen to somebody else, it happened to my daughter. All of a sudden that person you read about in the paper isn’t somebody else, it was my daughter—it’s just surreal.”


Christian Anders died on Sunday evening, but Goring’s search for her son continued for days. “Monday comes along, and I am still just frantic. That whole day, I just kept calling him and calling around and following back up with the police. Nobody ever told me I could file a missing person’s report.

Every touch was thought of and accounted for at Kahle’s Celebration of Life brunch, right down to the deep berry-colored signature cocktail served in a sophisticated Champagne coupe and emblazoned with an edible topper of her initials and the motto “Carpe Diem.”

“Tuesday came and I was still worried, still calling around. I went back to the roommates, and they hadn’t heard from him. And that day, I remember my husband actually told me about the story where a man jumped off a building and took someone with him, but it didn’t even dawn on me. The news had described the jumper as a 30-year-old man, not an 18-year-old kid. I just couldn’t — maybe I didn’t — I don’t know...”

It was late Tuesday night when Goring finally realized she could file a missing person’s report, and she did. Her search resumed Wednesday; she continued to scour downtown for her missing son. It wasn’t until her sister — Anders’ aunt — got the idea to start calling around to local hospitals to find her missing nephew that he was eventually identified at UCSD. Goring says she “hadn’t even thought of doing that, because this whole time, everyone kept saying that they saw him. Or maybe I just wanted to hold on to that glimmer of hope.” Even after he was identified, she says, “I just knew it was a mistake, it wasn’t him.”


Within a month of Kahle’s death, her longtime friend Malia, along with her close friend and boss Laurel, had organized a Celebration of Life brunch in her honor. Every touch was thought of and accounted for, right down to the deep berry-colored signature cocktail served in a sophisticated Champagne coupe and emblazoned with an edible topper of her initials and the motto Carpe Diem. The level of detail was fitting; Kahle was a professional event planner, and had worked for Laurel’s business, MacFarlane Promotions, for nearly a decade. The event was attended mostly by people of Kahle’s age, and outfits ranged from solemn black to summery florals. She would have fit right in with the crowd, and one almost expected to see her come around the corner, dressed in her own flowy, floral skirt, checking on the itinerary and coordinating with the A/V guy. Kahle had built relationships with many downtown establishments thanks to her work as an event planner, and some of those San Diego staples, along with the California Restaurant Association, showed their support by providing food for the event: cookies from the Cravory, Cowboy Star Mac and Cheese, a French toast casserole from Terra, coffee from Café Virtuoso, and potatoes and scrambled eggs from Farmers Table, just to name a few.

The most moving portion of the event was when her father Kent spoke. “Taylor and I were both emotional, we cried and laughed together,” he began. “When Taylor was first born, I was right there. She was born by C-section. I was the first person to hold Taylor, right there in the delivery room. It was awesome. That was the beginning of our relationship, our super tight father-daughter bond started right then and there...She was it, she was everything.”

He described their adventures together, and how “that put the travel spirit in her, I think. Later, on her own, she took a trip to Europe. She loved music, and flew all over the country. She lived life to the fullest, and I am proud of that, and I encouraged that. And I am glad I did — she lived just one week shy of her thirtieth birthday, and she fit all that in before then.”

Veronica Goring says, her son Christian “was very spontaneous, impulsive, he was always kind of that way, and that’s what made him so fun.”

Taylor Kahle’s mom Claudia died in 2018 at age sixty-three from early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. “She was an incredibly devoted mom,” said Kent. “Claudia was always full of energy and loved to laugh, and I truly feel that a huge part of Taylor’s zest for life came from her.” According to her father, Claudia’s death brought Taylor and him even closer: “The idea of living life to the fullest became, ‘Spend that time with those you love.’ Now, when you look back, you can see that’s exactly what Taylor did.”

About thirteen months before her death, Taylor Kahle had moved from Chicago — where she was working remotely during the pandemic — back to San Diego, to help out as her father recovered from knee surgery. Kahle and her dogs, Roo and Stella, moved in with Kent and his two dogs, Abby and Pepper. “We were always close, so living together was a real bonus. We saw each other every day; we had the dogs and shared our love of pets. And yet it made the impact of this happening even worse, because I got so used to seeing her every day, and now, just like that, it was taken away from me.”


The walls of Veronica Goring’s home are covered with artwork—some of it hers, some of it her son’s. There is a rack of recent pieces from his fashion design label ZerooreZ (formerly MASX) just behind the couch and, beside that, a table with his camera case and equipment set atop it. Anders coordinated his first fashion show when he was just 16, and sought out networking and entrepreneurial events all over San Diego. “I would ask him, ‘Christian, why don’t you go out and have fun?’” recalls Goring. “And he would tell me, ‘Mom, I have the rest of my life to do that. Right now I want to focus on building myself and making my money now, and then I’ll party.’” By all accounts, he was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.

Still, until the morning of the day he jumped, Anders had never shown any signs of feeling suicidal, and had never made any previous attempts. Says Goring, “Even with suicide, he was like ‘No, I am too important; I know that that is not an option.’ So, when he called me [that day], I was like, ‘You’ve told me that that’s not okay.’ He had that self-love...and he had so much to do and so much to accomplish.”

Goring admits that Christian had seemed a little “off” at times over the last year or so, but she often chalked it up to his natural eccentricities. When he first told her he heard voices, he said that they were comforting “spirit guides” — showing him the way through a loving life, sending messages of manifestation and abundance — and she didn’t think much of it. Like many other people, he had been a fan of the book The Secret and the law of attraction it proposed. It wasn’t until Goring found out that her son [had given] away $800 of his rent money to strangers in downtown San Diego that she began to worry about his judgment. “He just told me, ‘Mom, they needed it more than I did.’ I couldn’t even say anything. I didn’t even know how to process it. He said, ‘Whatever I give I’ll get back; if I give it out it’ll come back to me.’” As a kid, Anders would give away his lunch money, and as a teen, he had invited his mother to help him hand out water to homeless people downtown. Another time, en route to the airport, he made his mom pull over so he could give away some of his clothes to homeless people, right from his suitcase. It was instances like these that made distinguishing mental illness from the movements of a good-natured soul so difficult. Goring explains, “He was very spontaneous, impulsive, he was always kind of that way, and that’s what made him so fun. It was a piece of him, and that’s why I was so scared for so long to put him on any type of medicine. I didn’t want him to lose that — his creative, sweet, energetic self.”

But soon after he turned 18, she says, “a darkness set in” — in the form of delusions and paranoia around the notions of a roommate being out to get him and gangs chasing him. Goring recalls taking him out to a birthday dinner last December where “he just wasn’t himself. Even his eyes looked different. It was hard to know what was real or not at this time, but that night I dropped him off at his apartment and he called me at 2:30 am saying, ‘Mom, you have to come get me, they’re trying to kill me. They’re circling me and keep driving around the block.’” It was after this incident that Anders decided to move back to Denver to be with his biological, albeit estranged, father for about a month. “We had a conversation that when he turned 18, he would get help, but looking back in hindsight... This is what I want all the moms to know: do it now. Don’t wait until they’re 18, because then they can do whatever they want.”

Upon returning to San Diego, Anders started at Crawford High School, which Goring says was “a bigger school with more people…[and] there was a shift, of course, with covid.” Anders then transferred to Twain, “which was a smaller school, maybe ten students per class. It would be more one-on-one help. At first, everyone went to bat for him; they just saw the potential. But then it started to get challenging at that school...and then a switch just went off. He made a comment totally off the cuff to a teacher and really upset her. It was so left field, it caught me off guard.” Christian had been acting out a little in his typical role as class clown, but this time was different. When the teacher asked him to settle down, he made a snide comment that suggested she was on her period. While this might seem like a relatively benign comment for many people, Veronica says this was completely unlike her gentle, “pro-woman” son. “He supported ‘Free the Nipple’ and things like that through his art, he was in tune with the feminine and masculine side, even related more to the feminine…We had talks about it. He would never, he has never, said anything like that before. It was so out of character.”


Goring, along with Anders’ 22-year old sister, Paij Newborn, arranged an “Art-Fashion-Film” Celebration of Life for her son at DoJo Cafe in City Heights, showcasing his latest fashion pieces alongside some of his films and paintings. They also used the event as a launch for an organization they would like to start in his memory, one Goring says will offer resources to parents and families going through similar issues, and which will help fight the stigma of mental illness in adolescence. Another goal is to create an artist “warehouse” where people struggling with mental illness can hang out, create, and get connected with mental health resources in a way that is more approachable than traditional paths. She got the inspiration for this concept from her own struggles with getting her son the help he needed. “I would see Christian in these dark places, and I knew if I talked to him about doctors or anything like that, he would shut down. I told him, ‘If you don’t create, you’re going to die. We’re artists, we have to create.’”

Newborn explains her own drive to form the organization: “[Mental illness] just seems to be frowned upon, and especially in the media, they don’t talk about any of that, and so of course they construed [Christian’s] entire story and changed it to get the ‘likes’ and the numbers,” she says, referring to comments on social media and the lack of legitimate reporting on her brother’s suicide. “My baby brother who was struggling with mental illness...the pain got to be too much to carry around and the voices got too loud.”


As he struggles with the aftermath of his loss, Kent Kahle says, “I am thinking of doing therapy myself. You know, I am a baby boomer…but things change over time. Just like when dating apps first came out, it was like, ‘Oh you didn’t tell anyone.’ Now it’s like, everyone does it. It’s the same thing, I think, about therapists. Maybe years ago, if you went to a therapist, it was like, ‘What’s your problem?’ But now a lot of people do, it’s a good thing. It’s like drinking orange juice and getting your vitamin C, almost.” Part of what he struggles with is the improbability of it all. “This thing, it’s like getting struck by lightning, what’re the chances? One in a million — someone jumping off a building and landing on you. I just thought, ‘Why did God pick her? I looked back at my life and thought, ‘In my whole life, how many close calls have I had?’ I mean, I have ridden a motorcycle my whole life; I skydived a lot in college. I’ve done a lot of dangerous things and probably had a lot of close calls, and yet here my daughter is just a week before her thirtieth birthday, this happened to her, and now all of a sudden she’s gone. She mentioned having kids one day, and she said, ‘Dad, you know you’re going to have to babysit,’ and I was like, ‘Absolutely.’ I was looking forward to that. And then in a nanosecond, all of that is gone, just poof, gone.”

But even without therapy, Kent Kahle has found a measure of perspective that helps keep him going from one day to the next. “I tell people that she was happy. She had all kinds of great girlfriends, a lot of friends, loved her job and her boss. The number of people that have come up to me from organizations she worked with on the job, it’s just incredible. All of this adds up to the fact that she was in a very good place when this happened. It was way too soon, but I like to say she went out on a high note. When her time came, as cruel as it is, we don’t have answers — we don’t know why that time was chosen for her, but I can honestly look back and say that as her father, I don’t have any regrets.”

About three months after her death, Kent received a letter from a person who received a tissue donation from Taylor which freed that person from chronic pain and shoulder issues. Kent found this especially moving: “So in a small, but important, way, a part of her still lives on. It’s actually a physical living part of her that is still there. Tugs at my heart.”


Kent Kahle, news junkie, was puzzled and even upset by the lack of attention given to the man who fell on his daughter. Veronica Goring and Paij Newborn have their own struggles with the circumstances surrounding Christian Anders’ death. Newborn says, “What really hurts the most is that we were doing the reports for three days, and he didn’t die at the scene. And so I just know they saw the description — and I don’t know if they just threw my mom’s reports out the window and didn’t take it seriously — but he died in the hospital by himself. I just don’t understand why we didn’t get a call. They took him to the morgue, and it’s walking distance from here, so it was just crazy to go there and see he was just sitting here, by our home, for three days. I just think, if my aunt never called and weeks went by and we just kept just doing these reports…”

And then there was the fallout. “How everything happened, it’s a lot to take in, how there was another family involved. Right when I found out, something told me to go look at this Instagram account, DaygoTV, it’s like local news, car accidents…” Nestled among stories about people making a scene in local grocery stores and a woman being escorted from a Padres game after flashing the crowd, Newborn found a post about her brother and Taylor Kahle, and she was “heartbroken” at some of the comments she found:

“Wtf do you mean [RIP] both of them? RIP to her alone. Fuck that douchebag.”

“Who gives a fuck what that clown meant to do? You are worried about some douchebag. Best case is someone had to scrape his stupid ass off of the pavement. Would you want that job? Scraping some inconsiderate asshole off the concrete? Except now there are 2 bodies for no reason.”

“Could have stuck some iron in his mouth but no. Just had to take someone out in the process. Rest in peace to this woman and fuck that guy that killed her.”

“It’s not enough to try to end your life but dude ends up taking out someone that was on the other end of the spectrum…that’s fucked up.”

Newborn is still moved to tears thinking of those comments. “I know that’s not my brother at all.” Hurting someone else, she says, “was never his intention...Just seeing the stuff people were saying about him, I couldn’t even read it anymore. I did make a comment and said, ‘That 30-year-old man you’re talking about was my 18-year-old brother who was battling with mental illness…’ My deepest condolences go to the family that was involved, they both didn’t deserve this, but my brother’s side deserves to be heard too...and for how much Christian cared about everybody, it really hurts.”

Anders was never formally diagnosed with a mental health illness, aside from ADD in middle school. However, diagnosing these conditions in adolescence can be tricky. Parents are often unsure if it what they’re seeing is serious mental illness or just normal teenage angst and rebellion. And in Christian’s case, it was more a question of what was mental illness and what was just his quirky, creative, spiritual self.

Then there is the matter of stigma. Nobody wants to be told they’re mentally ill. And nobody wants to be told their loved one is mentally ill. Anders’ family was not immune to this. Newborn remembers, “There were a few times where... it just didn’t seem like it was him. I didn’t want to question him, never wanted him to think I was judging him or anything.” Goring felt torn about how to approach her son’s declining mental health. “I just felt like, ‘I can’t make him help himself.’ I felt so alone, so afraid; I was afraid to tell people, ‘Hey my son might be suffering with mental illness.’ I know I shouldn’t look at it like that. He was sick, he needed help, but even I put the shame there, like I didn’t want people to think, ‘Oh, Christian’s coming over’ [and be afraid]…He was just sick.

“I tried to find stuff out on my own, and it was just a nightmare. Being a mom, you’re sitting there watching your kid go through this, and I had no clue where to start. They suggested having him see a therapist at the school.” But “because he had insurance and we didn’t receive any assistance from the government, they said they couldn’t help us, and we had to go through our own medical provider. I called them, and that’s when they said that we had to get permission from both parents [to treat him] and I knew that including his father would be challenging. So that’s when the plan became to wait until he was eighteen.”

Shortly after Anders turned eighteen, he seemed to reach a point of clarity about his own mental illness. He told his mom, “I think it’s become too much for me, I think I need help.” Right away, Goring took advantage of this opportunity and called their provider, only to be put through the maddening cycle of waiting on hold, disconnections, playing phone tag, and trying to align the phone call with her and her son being together. “They finally called back, but he wasn’t with me, so I told them I would three-way call him and walk away. There are just so many rules and regulations to protect the patient’s privacy, but it makes it so hard to act fast when you have that little window of time where someone discovers they need help and it’s like, ‘We’ve got to do it now.’ I just felt like when the iron was hot, we couldn’t strike.”

After jumping through “all the hoops,” Goring was finally able to coordinate an appointment for Anders, but it was followed by another devastating blow: “He up and moved to Denver.” This was around the time Anders felt that gangs were following him; his clarity seemed to wane, and he was once again in the grip of mental illness. Goring was beyond frustrated, and says, “For me, to get enough nerve to reach out, get help, and not worry about what people think — it took a lot — and to just keep getting shot down...”

According to Dianna Brown, Anders’ middle school teacher and IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) case manager at Parkway Middle School, “ [Mental health] has such a negative stigma; it is being looked at more, but we are still so far from the resources that we need, especially for kids between 12 and 17 years old...If students are making comments about being suicidal or have a plan, we call the PERT to come and assess them...But in general with mental health issues, we are seeing more kids [Christian’s] age, maybe younger, and there are just not the services for them...We have a lot of kids, now especially, dealing with a variety of mental health issues — depression, self-harm and cutting, suicidal thoughts, transgender issues — and there aren’t really any resources for them. It’s really disheartening that there is nowhere to refer to or turn to.”

Looking back now, Goring can see clearly what she would have done differently, and she knows what she wants to share with other moms: “Follow your mom’s intuition, be more vocal. Be the squeaky wheel — make people do their jobs. Don’t wait, whatever you do. Utilize your resources — you are not alone. And be understanding, and just love on them.”

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By all accounts, Christian Anders was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.
By all accounts, Christian Anders was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.

On Sunday, April 25, 2021, Taylor Kahle and her date had dinner at Basic Bar & Pizza in East Village — just “Basic” to locals. They ordered Mashed Potato Bacon pizza and a couple of beers (a Miller High Life for her and a Cali Creamin’ for him). “It was her favorite; she had brought him here specifically to try that pizza because it was her favorite,” according to Erik Tesmer, General Manager and part-owner of the restaurant. The evening was much like any other San Diego date night, until it wasn’t. Less than an hour later, Kahle was killed by a suicidal jumper after leaving the bar at the corner of 10th and J Street.

Basic’s surveillance cameras show Kahle and her date leaving the restaurant with leftovers in hand at 7:21 pm. That’s followed by a second video showing them crossing the street, with Kahle’s date walking just slightly ahead of her. They are followed by another couple. After a moment, this second couple begins crossing the street and then the two of them suddenly stop dead in their tracks — at 7:23 pm. After a few beats, the man runs full speed toward Kahle and her date, who are just out of view.

General Manager Tesmer recalls, “I have a security guard friend at the parking garage, and he said that the jumper had to climb the locked gate, and from the time he started climbing to the time he jumped, four minutes passed.” Assuming the man jumped at 7:23, when the second couple stopped in their tracks, this means he was breaking into the garage at about 7:19, two minutes before Kahle and her date left Basic, possibly as they were finishing their last sips of beer and signing the check.


Paul Maxwell, a paramedic with AMR San Diego, was sitting in the passenger seat of the ambulance that evening when the call for “a jumpet [sic]” came in at 7:24 pm — the end of a “low acuity” shift. He had just jokingly asked his paramedic intern, Aaron Frazee, why he “didn’t want to see any critical calls,” as if Frazee had any control over the calls coming in. But by all accounts, the 26-year old was ready and willing for whatever calls came their way. It was his second of a forty-shift rotation as an intern, the last phase before becoming licensed as a paramedic. While 59-year-old Maxwell had been at this for more than half of his life, Frazee had just five years of EMT experience under his belt.

Basic’s surveillance cameras show Kahle and her date leaving the restaurant with leftovers in hand at 7:21 pm. That’s followed by a second video showing them crossing the street, with Kahle’s date walking just slightly ahead of her.

After a brief moment of confusion over the term “jumpet,” during which Frazee quickly scanned his memory for a possible new drug fad (“I’d heard of a whip-it before, but never a jumpet”), the intended meaning of the call became clear. A second line came through: “Ninth story.” For his part, Maxwell knew this was serious: “There was definitely a realization that the nature of this was legitimate. Most of the calls downtown are actually…not legitimate calls...But this clearly was something different.” They drove the two miles or so to the scene, getting there within five minutes of the initial call.


Kent Kahle still lives in the home where he raised his daughter Taylor, and where she spent the last thirteen months of her life. “Life was normal until this happened,” he says. “It was just a normal day. She went out on a date, and I thought at some point she’d be home late. Her date that day, Alex, was somebody new that she had met; she really liked him, they were on their second date. They had spent the day together, they went to the zoo, and went to dinner. They were walking from the restaurant to her car when this happened.”


Taylor Kahle was a professional event planner, and had worked for MacFarlane Promotions for nearly a decade. She is pictured here at one of her events, 2017’s Chula Vista HarborFest.

“It was Sunday when I got the call from Christian. It was 8:03 [am],” says Veronica Goring. Goring is the mother of Christian Anders, the 18-year-old who accidentally killed Kahle when he jumped from the ninth story balcony of the Padres Parkade parking structure at 10th and J. “He wanted to tell me that he loves me, and that he couldn’t be here anymore, [that] ‘The voices are just becoming too much.’ I said, ‘Christian, you know we can get you help, we can get through this.’ It sounded like he was at the trolley station — he didn’t drive, he took the trolley and bus — and I said, ‘Why don’t you just come meet us?’ [My friend and I] were at the swap meet, and he loved the swap meet. He said, ‘Oh, that’d be nice.’ But then he called me back and said, ‘Mom, I’m not coming. I’m just going to go home.’ I went to his house, but then his phone was off. This was still in the morning. I started to panic — his phone is never off. I just knew it wasn’t good.

“I went to the [SDSU] trolley station and looked for him and went downtown. I saw some police officers and let them know exactly what was going on. They said they were going to send an officer to the house, so I went back home. I was literally just driving around, randomly looking for him, and they said, ‘Let us do our job.’ I kept calling and calling, and that’s when I got in touch with the crisis line, which had me call PERT” — the Psychiatric Emergency Response Team.

“I went to his house and talked to his roommates, and they said, ‘Oh, he was just here.’ I called the police back and let them know the roommates saw him. But I feel like I shouldn’t have, because it seemed it was at that point that they stopped looking. I just wanted to be diligent and let them know what was going on. Then the police from SDSU called. I let them know he was at that trolley station at the time, and gave them all the same information — and still nothing.”

18-year-old Christian Anders, accidentally killed Taylor Kahle when he jumped from the ninth story balcony of the Padres Parkade parking structure at 10th and J.

The scene that greeted paramedic Maxwell and intern Frazee upon their arrival was confusing and chaotic. According to Maxwell, “The fire engine was already there but had just got there, so not really anything was done at that point. So we converged with the four of them from the fire engine. This was a busy area of downtown, with diners and people walking their dogs and things like that.”

The paramedics quickly recognized that the person they identified as “patient one,” would not be savable. But “patient two,” the unidentified male involved, still had a heart rhythm. After a few rounds of CPR, he was stable enough to be loaded up for transport. The moment has stayed with Frazee: “I took a mental step back; I took myself out of the call when I had a moment where there wasn’t anything I needed to do, maybe five to ten seconds...and I looked over at this crowd of people who were there, which included patient one’s [date]. And there is just this huge crowd of twenty to thirty people and they are all just looking at us...watching what’s happening. And I remember being on the other side of that caution tape, and I am looking at them thinking, ‘These people don’t see tragedy like this, and so this is very jarring for them. They might have been there before we showed up, and so they are mentally, I am sure, traumatized.’ I was looking at faces of people who were taken aback by what was going on. And then I jumped right back in.”

Kent Kahle (right) still lives in the home where he raised his daughter Taylor (left), and where she spent the last thirteen months of her life. “Life was normal until this happened,” he says.

Upon his arrival at UCSD, “patient two” went into cardiac arrest. They got him into the trauma unit but, despite lifesaving efforts, he died at 8:16 pm., fifty-three minutes after he jumped. “He didn’t have any identification on him, which is a homeless move, since everything gets lifted on the streets,” says Maxwell. “They were probably able to eventually identify him using his fingerprints; I saw the police taking them as we left the hospital. They also have facial recognition software they can use, but I’m not sure if they used it in his case.” As it happened, the teenager wouldn’t be identified for three more days.


The news of his daughter Taylor’s death blindsided Kent Kahle just as he was heading to bed that night, making it feel more like a bad dream: “About 11:15, I was actually on my way to bed and as I was going down the stairs, I thought I heard the doorbell ring. There was a woman standing there, and she was in a county uniform with the badge and everything, and I knew this was something serious. The first thing she asked me was who I was and if I knew Taylor Kahle...and she just came right out with it. She said, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter was killed tonight. She died. A man committed suicide; he jumped off a building and landed on her.’ I wanted to think that I had gone to bed and it was a dream But it wasn’t a dream. I just couldn’t believe it.

Veronica Goring (right), along with Anders’ 22-year old sister, Paij Newborn (left), arranged an “Art-Fashion-Film” Celebration of Life for her son at DoJo Cafe in City Heights, showcasing his latest fashion pieces alongside some of his films and paintings.

“I sure did that whole denial thing that night, when I tried to go to sleep. I just wanted to refuse that this actually happened. I wanted to deny that the medical person even came to my door. I was trying to will it out of my life, to reverse, to not happen. It was so horrific...but boy, it would not go away. And the next morning, it was still there.

“I am a news junkie... Well, one section of the paper is all the traffic accidents, people dying. I always read about motorcyclists, because I ride myself and am interested. So you read it and go, ‘Oh, that’s tragic.’ But it’s always somebody else; some family member is hurting because they lost their family member or spouse. But you turn the page and move on. But this time, it didn’t happen to somebody else, it happened to my daughter. All of a sudden that person you read about in the paper isn’t somebody else, it was my daughter—it’s just surreal.”


Christian Anders died on Sunday evening, but Goring’s search for her son continued for days. “Monday comes along, and I am still just frantic. That whole day, I just kept calling him and calling around and following back up with the police. Nobody ever told me I could file a missing person’s report.

Every touch was thought of and accounted for at Kahle’s Celebration of Life brunch, right down to the deep berry-colored signature cocktail served in a sophisticated Champagne coupe and emblazoned with an edible topper of her initials and the motto “Carpe Diem.”

“Tuesday came and I was still worried, still calling around. I went back to the roommates, and they hadn’t heard from him. And that day, I remember my husband actually told me about the story where a man jumped off a building and took someone with him, but it didn’t even dawn on me. The news had described the jumper as a 30-year-old man, not an 18-year-old kid. I just couldn’t — maybe I didn’t — I don’t know...”

It was late Tuesday night when Goring finally realized she could file a missing person’s report, and she did. Her search resumed Wednesday; she continued to scour downtown for her missing son. It wasn’t until her sister — Anders’ aunt — got the idea to start calling around to local hospitals to find her missing nephew that he was eventually identified at UCSD. Goring says she “hadn’t even thought of doing that, because this whole time, everyone kept saying that they saw him. Or maybe I just wanted to hold on to that glimmer of hope.” Even after he was identified, she says, “I just knew it was a mistake, it wasn’t him.”


Within a month of Kahle’s death, her longtime friend Malia, along with her close friend and boss Laurel, had organized a Celebration of Life brunch in her honor. Every touch was thought of and accounted for, right down to the deep berry-colored signature cocktail served in a sophisticated Champagne coupe and emblazoned with an edible topper of her initials and the motto Carpe Diem. The level of detail was fitting; Kahle was a professional event planner, and had worked for Laurel’s business, MacFarlane Promotions, for nearly a decade. The event was attended mostly by people of Kahle’s age, and outfits ranged from solemn black to summery florals. She would have fit right in with the crowd, and one almost expected to see her come around the corner, dressed in her own flowy, floral skirt, checking on the itinerary and coordinating with the A/V guy. Kahle had built relationships with many downtown establishments thanks to her work as an event planner, and some of those San Diego staples, along with the California Restaurant Association, showed their support by providing food for the event: cookies from the Cravory, Cowboy Star Mac and Cheese, a French toast casserole from Terra, coffee from Café Virtuoso, and potatoes and scrambled eggs from Farmers Table, just to name a few.

The most moving portion of the event was when her father Kent spoke. “Taylor and I were both emotional, we cried and laughed together,” he began. “When Taylor was first born, I was right there. She was born by C-section. I was the first person to hold Taylor, right there in the delivery room. It was awesome. That was the beginning of our relationship, our super tight father-daughter bond started right then and there...She was it, she was everything.”

He described their adventures together, and how “that put the travel spirit in her, I think. Later, on her own, she took a trip to Europe. She loved music, and flew all over the country. She lived life to the fullest, and I am proud of that, and I encouraged that. And I am glad I did — she lived just one week shy of her thirtieth birthday, and she fit all that in before then.”

Veronica Goring says, her son Christian “was very spontaneous, impulsive, he was always kind of that way, and that’s what made him so fun.”

Taylor Kahle’s mom Claudia died in 2018 at age sixty-three from early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. “She was an incredibly devoted mom,” said Kent. “Claudia was always full of energy and loved to laugh, and I truly feel that a huge part of Taylor’s zest for life came from her.” According to her father, Claudia’s death brought Taylor and him even closer: “The idea of living life to the fullest became, ‘Spend that time with those you love.’ Now, when you look back, you can see that’s exactly what Taylor did.”

About thirteen months before her death, Taylor Kahle had moved from Chicago — where she was working remotely during the pandemic — back to San Diego, to help out as her father recovered from knee surgery. Kahle and her dogs, Roo and Stella, moved in with Kent and his two dogs, Abby and Pepper. “We were always close, so living together was a real bonus. We saw each other every day; we had the dogs and shared our love of pets. And yet it made the impact of this happening even worse, because I got so used to seeing her every day, and now, just like that, it was taken away from me.”


The walls of Veronica Goring’s home are covered with artwork—some of it hers, some of it her son’s. There is a rack of recent pieces from his fashion design label ZerooreZ (formerly MASX) just behind the couch and, beside that, a table with his camera case and equipment set atop it. Anders coordinated his first fashion show when he was just 16, and sought out networking and entrepreneurial events all over San Diego. “I would ask him, ‘Christian, why don’t you go out and have fun?’” recalls Goring. “And he would tell me, ‘Mom, I have the rest of my life to do that. Right now I want to focus on building myself and making my money now, and then I’ll party.’” By all accounts, he was a remarkable and promising young man, albeit troubled in his later teen years.

Still, until the morning of the day he jumped, Anders had never shown any signs of feeling suicidal, and had never made any previous attempts. Says Goring, “Even with suicide, he was like ‘No, I am too important; I know that that is not an option.’ So, when he called me [that day], I was like, ‘You’ve told me that that’s not okay.’ He had that self-love...and he had so much to do and so much to accomplish.”

Goring admits that Christian had seemed a little “off” at times over the last year or so, but she often chalked it up to his natural eccentricities. When he first told her he heard voices, he said that they were comforting “spirit guides” — showing him the way through a loving life, sending messages of manifestation and abundance — and she didn’t think much of it. Like many other people, he had been a fan of the book The Secret and the law of attraction it proposed. It wasn’t until Goring found out that her son [had given] away $800 of his rent money to strangers in downtown San Diego that she began to worry about his judgment. “He just told me, ‘Mom, they needed it more than I did.’ I couldn’t even say anything. I didn’t even know how to process it. He said, ‘Whatever I give I’ll get back; if I give it out it’ll come back to me.’” As a kid, Anders would give away his lunch money, and as a teen, he had invited his mother to help him hand out water to homeless people downtown. Another time, en route to the airport, he made his mom pull over so he could give away some of his clothes to homeless people, right from his suitcase. It was instances like these that made distinguishing mental illness from the movements of a good-natured soul so difficult. Goring explains, “He was very spontaneous, impulsive, he was always kind of that way, and that’s what made him so fun. It was a piece of him, and that’s why I was so scared for so long to put him on any type of medicine. I didn’t want him to lose that — his creative, sweet, energetic self.”

But soon after he turned 18, she says, “a darkness set in” — in the form of delusions and paranoia around the notions of a roommate being out to get him and gangs chasing him. Goring recalls taking him out to a birthday dinner last December where “he just wasn’t himself. Even his eyes looked different. It was hard to know what was real or not at this time, but that night I dropped him off at his apartment and he called me at 2:30 am saying, ‘Mom, you have to come get me, they’re trying to kill me. They’re circling me and keep driving around the block.’” It was after this incident that Anders decided to move back to Denver to be with his biological, albeit estranged, father for about a month. “We had a conversation that when he turned 18, he would get help, but looking back in hindsight... This is what I want all the moms to know: do it now. Don’t wait until they’re 18, because then they can do whatever they want.”

Upon returning to San Diego, Anders started at Crawford High School, which Goring says was “a bigger school with more people…[and] there was a shift, of course, with covid.” Anders then transferred to Twain, “which was a smaller school, maybe ten students per class. It would be more one-on-one help. At first, everyone went to bat for him; they just saw the potential. But then it started to get challenging at that school...and then a switch just went off. He made a comment totally off the cuff to a teacher and really upset her. It was so left field, it caught me off guard.” Christian had been acting out a little in his typical role as class clown, but this time was different. When the teacher asked him to settle down, he made a snide comment that suggested she was on her period. While this might seem like a relatively benign comment for many people, Veronica says this was completely unlike her gentle, “pro-woman” son. “He supported ‘Free the Nipple’ and things like that through his art, he was in tune with the feminine and masculine side, even related more to the feminine…We had talks about it. He would never, he has never, said anything like that before. It was so out of character.”


Goring, along with Anders’ 22-year old sister, Paij Newborn, arranged an “Art-Fashion-Film” Celebration of Life for her son at DoJo Cafe in City Heights, showcasing his latest fashion pieces alongside some of his films and paintings. They also used the event as a launch for an organization they would like to start in his memory, one Goring says will offer resources to parents and families going through similar issues, and which will help fight the stigma of mental illness in adolescence. Another goal is to create an artist “warehouse” where people struggling with mental illness can hang out, create, and get connected with mental health resources in a way that is more approachable than traditional paths. She got the inspiration for this concept from her own struggles with getting her son the help he needed. “I would see Christian in these dark places, and I knew if I talked to him about doctors or anything like that, he would shut down. I told him, ‘If you don’t create, you’re going to die. We’re artists, we have to create.’”

Newborn explains her own drive to form the organization: “[Mental illness] just seems to be frowned upon, and especially in the media, they don’t talk about any of that, and so of course they construed [Christian’s] entire story and changed it to get the ‘likes’ and the numbers,” she says, referring to comments on social media and the lack of legitimate reporting on her brother’s suicide. “My baby brother who was struggling with mental illness...the pain got to be too much to carry around and the voices got too loud.”


As he struggles with the aftermath of his loss, Kent Kahle says, “I am thinking of doing therapy myself. You know, I am a baby boomer…but things change over time. Just like when dating apps first came out, it was like, ‘Oh you didn’t tell anyone.’ Now it’s like, everyone does it. It’s the same thing, I think, about therapists. Maybe years ago, if you went to a therapist, it was like, ‘What’s your problem?’ But now a lot of people do, it’s a good thing. It’s like drinking orange juice and getting your vitamin C, almost.” Part of what he struggles with is the improbability of it all. “This thing, it’s like getting struck by lightning, what’re the chances? One in a million — someone jumping off a building and landing on you. I just thought, ‘Why did God pick her? I looked back at my life and thought, ‘In my whole life, how many close calls have I had?’ I mean, I have ridden a motorcycle my whole life; I skydived a lot in college. I’ve done a lot of dangerous things and probably had a lot of close calls, and yet here my daughter is just a week before her thirtieth birthday, this happened to her, and now all of a sudden she’s gone. She mentioned having kids one day, and she said, ‘Dad, you know you’re going to have to babysit,’ and I was like, ‘Absolutely.’ I was looking forward to that. And then in a nanosecond, all of that is gone, just poof, gone.”

But even without therapy, Kent Kahle has found a measure of perspective that helps keep him going from one day to the next. “I tell people that she was happy. She had all kinds of great girlfriends, a lot of friends, loved her job and her boss. The number of people that have come up to me from organizations she worked with on the job, it’s just incredible. All of this adds up to the fact that she was in a very good place when this happened. It was way too soon, but I like to say she went out on a high note. When her time came, as cruel as it is, we don’t have answers — we don’t know why that time was chosen for her, but I can honestly look back and say that as her father, I don’t have any regrets.”

About three months after her death, Kent received a letter from a person who received a tissue donation from Taylor which freed that person from chronic pain and shoulder issues. Kent found this especially moving: “So in a small, but important, way, a part of her still lives on. It’s actually a physical living part of her that is still there. Tugs at my heart.”


Kent Kahle, news junkie, was puzzled and even upset by the lack of attention given to the man who fell on his daughter. Veronica Goring and Paij Newborn have their own struggles with the circumstances surrounding Christian Anders’ death. Newborn says, “What really hurts the most is that we were doing the reports for three days, and he didn’t die at the scene. And so I just know they saw the description — and I don’t know if they just threw my mom’s reports out the window and didn’t take it seriously — but he died in the hospital by himself. I just don’t understand why we didn’t get a call. They took him to the morgue, and it’s walking distance from here, so it was just crazy to go there and see he was just sitting here, by our home, for three days. I just think, if my aunt never called and weeks went by and we just kept just doing these reports…”

And then there was the fallout. “How everything happened, it’s a lot to take in, how there was another family involved. Right when I found out, something told me to go look at this Instagram account, DaygoTV, it’s like local news, car accidents…” Nestled among stories about people making a scene in local grocery stores and a woman being escorted from a Padres game after flashing the crowd, Newborn found a post about her brother and Taylor Kahle, and she was “heartbroken” at some of the comments she found:

“Wtf do you mean [RIP] both of them? RIP to her alone. Fuck that douchebag.”

“Who gives a fuck what that clown meant to do? You are worried about some douchebag. Best case is someone had to scrape his stupid ass off of the pavement. Would you want that job? Scraping some inconsiderate asshole off the concrete? Except now there are 2 bodies for no reason.”

“Could have stuck some iron in his mouth but no. Just had to take someone out in the process. Rest in peace to this woman and fuck that guy that killed her.”

“It’s not enough to try to end your life but dude ends up taking out someone that was on the other end of the spectrum…that’s fucked up.”

Newborn is still moved to tears thinking of those comments. “I know that’s not my brother at all.” Hurting someone else, she says, “was never his intention...Just seeing the stuff people were saying about him, I couldn’t even read it anymore. I did make a comment and said, ‘That 30-year-old man you’re talking about was my 18-year-old brother who was battling with mental illness…’ My deepest condolences go to the family that was involved, they both didn’t deserve this, but my brother’s side deserves to be heard too...and for how much Christian cared about everybody, it really hurts.”

Anders was never formally diagnosed with a mental health illness, aside from ADD in middle school. However, diagnosing these conditions in adolescence can be tricky. Parents are often unsure if it what they’re seeing is serious mental illness or just normal teenage angst and rebellion. And in Christian’s case, it was more a question of what was mental illness and what was just his quirky, creative, spiritual self.

Then there is the matter of stigma. Nobody wants to be told they’re mentally ill. And nobody wants to be told their loved one is mentally ill. Anders’ family was not immune to this. Newborn remembers, “There were a few times where... it just didn’t seem like it was him. I didn’t want to question him, never wanted him to think I was judging him or anything.” Goring felt torn about how to approach her son’s declining mental health. “I just felt like, ‘I can’t make him help himself.’ I felt so alone, so afraid; I was afraid to tell people, ‘Hey my son might be suffering with mental illness.’ I know I shouldn’t look at it like that. He was sick, he needed help, but even I put the shame there, like I didn’t want people to think, ‘Oh, Christian’s coming over’ [and be afraid]…He was just sick.

“I tried to find stuff out on my own, and it was just a nightmare. Being a mom, you’re sitting there watching your kid go through this, and I had no clue where to start. They suggested having him see a therapist at the school.” But “because he had insurance and we didn’t receive any assistance from the government, they said they couldn’t help us, and we had to go through our own medical provider. I called them, and that’s when they said that we had to get permission from both parents [to treat him] and I knew that including his father would be challenging. So that’s when the plan became to wait until he was eighteen.”

Shortly after Anders turned eighteen, he seemed to reach a point of clarity about his own mental illness. He told his mom, “I think it’s become too much for me, I think I need help.” Right away, Goring took advantage of this opportunity and called their provider, only to be put through the maddening cycle of waiting on hold, disconnections, playing phone tag, and trying to align the phone call with her and her son being together. “They finally called back, but he wasn’t with me, so I told them I would three-way call him and walk away. There are just so many rules and regulations to protect the patient’s privacy, but it makes it so hard to act fast when you have that little window of time where someone discovers they need help and it’s like, ‘We’ve got to do it now.’ I just felt like when the iron was hot, we couldn’t strike.”

After jumping through “all the hoops,” Goring was finally able to coordinate an appointment for Anders, but it was followed by another devastating blow: “He up and moved to Denver.” This was around the time Anders felt that gangs were following him; his clarity seemed to wane, and he was once again in the grip of mental illness. Goring was beyond frustrated, and says, “For me, to get enough nerve to reach out, get help, and not worry about what people think — it took a lot — and to just keep getting shot down...”

According to Dianna Brown, Anders’ middle school teacher and IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) case manager at Parkway Middle School, “ [Mental health] has such a negative stigma; it is being looked at more, but we are still so far from the resources that we need, especially for kids between 12 and 17 years old...If students are making comments about being suicidal or have a plan, we call the PERT to come and assess them...But in general with mental health issues, we are seeing more kids [Christian’s] age, maybe younger, and there are just not the services for them...We have a lot of kids, now especially, dealing with a variety of mental health issues — depression, self-harm and cutting, suicidal thoughts, transgender issues — and there aren’t really any resources for them. It’s really disheartening that there is nowhere to refer to or turn to.”

Looking back now, Goring can see clearly what she would have done differently, and she knows what she wants to share with other moms: “Follow your mom’s intuition, be more vocal. Be the squeaky wheel — make people do their jobs. Don’t wait, whatever you do. Utilize your resources — you are not alone. And be understanding, and just love on them.”

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