“I’m in the restroom” — Final Text of 14-Year-Old Mason Schermerhorn Brings a Georgia Community to Its Knees
A small Georgia town is reeling from unimaginable heartbreak following a mass shooting at Apalachee High School in Winder, where four students lost their lives—including 14-year-old Mason Schermerhorn.
In the midst of chaos, fear, and confusion, Mason sent his mother a final message from a school restroom. Moments later, his life was tragically taken.
Now, as the community struggles to comprehend the depth of this loss, Mason’s family and those who knew him are speaking out, sharing memories of a boy whose spirit was as vibrant as it was kind—and whose final moments reflect the terrifying reality so many students face in schools today.
A Final Message, A Mother’s Hope
Mason’s last words were sent through a text message: “I’m in the restroom.” His mother clung to that message, believing—hoping—he was safe. Ronald Clark, a youth minister and volunteer chaplain, was at a local store when news of the shooting broke. He rushed to the school to offer support, ultimately assisting Mason’s mother as they searched for her son.
At first, there was still hope. She told Clark her son was autistic and often sought out quiet places in overwhelming situations. The restroom might have been a refuge, not a trap. But as Clark brought a photo of Mason to the command post, the devastating confirmation arrived: Mason was among the deceased.
Clark, who had only just spoken to Mason’s mother the day before, reflected on the unbearable moment of delivering that news. “She loved her kids deeply. She talked about them with joy and pride. No one should have to hear those words,” he said, visibly shaken.
Who Mason Was
Though Mason lived with autism, he was never defined by it. Those who knew him described him as energetic, deeply affectionate, and always ready to make others laugh. “He didn’t just brighten a room—he lit it up completely,” said Clark. “He had a spark that reached people.”
His sister, Alanna Wallace, spoke through tears but with strength. “Mason wasn’t just my brother,” she said. “He was my protector. Even though I was older, he always looked out for me. He loved unconditionally and saw people for who they really were.”
Alanna is now navigating a reality where her little brother is gone—but says she’s choosing to carry his joy with her. “It’s what he would’ve wanted,” she said. “He saw the good in people, always.”
A Community Scarred but Standing
As investigators continue piecing together what led to the deadly violence, more stories of bravery and heartbreak have emerged. Another 14-year-old student texted his mother during the incident: “School shooting. I’m scared, please. I’m not joking.” Minutes later: “Class. Someone’s dead.”
These messages, like Mason’s, offer a haunting look into the moments when life and childhood were violently interrupted by fear. For students at Apalachee High, the trauma will echo long after the media fades. For the families of the four lives lost, the grief is just beginning.
Ronald Clark, who has worked with youth for over two decades, said he’s never seen this kind of emotional devastation. “These kids had futures. They had dreams. And now their absence is deafening.”
Remembering Mason, Calling for Change
Mason Schermerhorn was more than a victim—he was a light to his family, a beloved friend, and a young boy full of life. His story is a heartbreaking reflection of the innocence that continues to be lost in the spaces that are meant to nurture, not harm.
But his memory is also a rallying point—for compassion, for safer schools, and for communities that refuse to accept this as normal.
“Mason’s death shattered us,” Alanna said. “But we’ll honor him by living like he did—with kindness, with love, and with the courage to protect those who need it.”
A Candle That Still Burns
In the days since the shooting, memorials have appeared outside the school. Flowers, messages, and candles now line the front gates. Among them is a handwritten note, scrawled in a child’s handwriting: “You were my best friend. I miss you already.”
Though Mason’s life was stolen far too soon, the impact he made in just 14 years continues to ripple outward. His final text, sent in desperation and hope, now stands as both a tragic goodbye and a quiet reminder of what’s at stake.
In honoring Mason’s memory, his community stands not only in grief—but in love, resilience, and the urgent pursuit of a world where no child ever has to send a final text from a school restroom again.