MAYA’S MOTHER SAYS: “My heart is broken, but Maya moon is still here…”

The latest emotional update from Cia Edmonds, mother of 12-year-old Maya Gebala, has once again captured the world’s attention amid the ongoing recovery from the tragic Tumbler Ridge school shooting. In a heartfelt post shared from the bedside at BC Children’s Hospital in Vancouver, Edmonds wrote: “My heart is broken, but Maya moon is still here…”

This tender nickname—”Maya moon”—reflects the deep bond between mother and daughter, a recurring motif in Edmonds’ updates as she clings to every sign of life in the face of devastating injuries. Maya, the heroic Grade 7 student who bravely attempted to lock the library door to protect her classmates during the February 10, 2026, attack, remains in critical condition. She was shot multiple times, with wounds to the head and neck that caused severe trauma, including a bullet entering above her left eye, penetrating the brain, exiting, and leaving fragments and shards lodged within.

Recent developments offer cautious hope amid the grief. Edmonds described clearer, more deliberate movements on Maya’s left side—twitches that feel purposeful rather than purely reflexive. There are weak blinks, faint eye fluttering when Maya seems “awake,” and Edmonds believes her daughter’s eyes follow the sound of her voice during moments of interaction, such as when she massages Maya’s feet or sings to her. Swelling in the brain has reduced following emergency surgery, a critical step that has allowed doctors to shift focus slightly from immediate life-threatening crises to longer-term stabilization.

Yet the prognosis remains guarded. Doctors have not made firm promises, emphasizing the extent of the damage: significant injury to the left side of the brain where the bullet tore through, potential harm to the brainstem from the exit wound, and lingering bullet fragments that complicate recovery. Maya is still unable to breathe entirely on her own in some reports, though earlier updates noted reductions in ventilator support as she began initiating breaths. A feeding tube has been placed, and while she is no longer considered at immediate risk of passing, risks persist—fluid buildup in the lungs, potential heart complications, or a plateau in progress.

Edmonds’ words convey raw vulnerability and unbreakable resolve: “The progress is so uplifting, I dread the day it plateaus… There are still many fears. There are still risks… this recovery won’t be linear.” She continues speaking to Maya, telling her how proud the family is and how the world is cheering her on. “I still sing to her. Talk to her… We are so incredibly grateful for all the love and support. I believe that positive energy and prayer has helped her to rise above the imminent and dire initial expectations.”

The “first whispers” moment that has tugged at heartstrings likely refers to these subtle responses— the weak blinks, the eye movements tracking a familiar voice, or the left-side twitches that feel like Maya is trying to communicate. In one poignant account, Edmonds described standing at the foot of the bed, sensing her daughter’s awareness even through closed eyes and induced coma phases. These small signs, though medically uncertain, represent profound emotional milestones for a family shattered by violence.

Maya’s act of heroism during the shooting—rushing to secure the library door as 18-year-old suspect Jesse Van Rootselaar approached—has been widely praised. Witnesses and family recount how she prioritized others’ safety, only to be struck while seeking cover. The attack claimed eight lives, including five students, an education assistant, the shooter’s mother, and her half-brother. It remains one of Canada’s most shocking school incidents in recent decades.

Community and global support continues to pour in via the GoFundMe campaign for Maya’s recovery, which has helped cover travel, extended hospital stays, and potential future rehabilitation needs. Updates from Edmonds and Maya’s father, David Gebala, highlight small victories: reduced ventilator dependency in prior days, limb movements, and the easing of brain swelling. Other survivors, like Paige Hoekstra, show improvement and even discharge plans, offering glimmers of what might be possible.

As of mid-February 2026, Maya defies the initial grim outlook—she survived the first critical night when doctors feared she would not. Edmonds’ posts balance honesty about the challenges with fierce maternal hope: “My baby is in there… Fight hard baby. They say you can’t. They don’t know you like we do.”

The road ahead is long and uncertain. Severe brain injuries often involve extended therapy, possible neurological deficits, and lifelong adjustments. Yet in the quiet of the ICU, filled with monitors and whispered prayers, Maya’s subtle responses fuel belief in miracles. Her mother’s broken heart finds strength in persistence: “We cannot stop now, we have so far to go yet.”

An entire community—and strangers worldwide—continues to hold its breath, praying for more movements, more blinks, more whispers from a brave 12-year-old girl who never imagined her courage would inspire so many.