A half-eaten container of yogurt still sits in the fridge. A “Bluey” bike leans against the back door, and a small watering can rests untouched nearby, each item an aching reminder of the life that filled Bill Byrne’s home in Pembroke less than a week ago.

“I don’t want to get rid of a lot of stuff. Not all at once,” Byrne said, his voice soft as he sat at the picnic table in his backyard. “I miss them. I thought we had some more time.”

It’s been less than a week since Byrne’s daughter, Julia, 26, took the life of her 3-year-old son, Blake, and then her own.

In the six days since their deaths, Byrne watched the same video on repeat. It shows him and his daughter teaching Blake how to ride a bike for the very first time on the private road near their home. Wobbling at first, his tiny feet struggled to stay on the pedals. Blake found his balance and then suddenly stopped.

“There’s an ant!” Blake exclaimed in the video. “I might squash the ant.”

Julia laughed softly as she documented every moment on her phone.

The video was taken just nine hours before Julia shot her son and then herself with a handgun she owned.

It is one of the few remaining treasures Byrne clings to, a bittersweet memory from their time together.

‘Cheerful kid’

Back in December, Julia returned home to New Hampshire after six years of service with the Army brigade responsible for maintaining combat aviation. She and Blake moved from El Paso, Texas and settled into her father’s yellow-shingled house in Pembroke. Her relationship with Blake’s father never worked out. When she was pregnant, he wanted her to get an abortion. She wanted to have the baby, she told her family.

Julia was the youngest of Byrne’s three daughters. Byrne saw her as strong and sensitive. Most of all, she was a devoted single mother to her only son, he said. She showered Blake with love and spoiled him with every toy she could find.

“She was the perfect mom, totally attentive,” said Byrne.

Though Julia hadn’t been in active combat, the regimented structure of military life had taken a toll on her mental health, her father explained. Long days, often surviving on just four hours of sleep and the weight of countless sacrifices, had worn her down.

She recently turned to the Manchester VA hospital for help.

“It’s hard to tell how much people are dealing with,” said Byrne. “If they don’t want you to know about it, they’re good at kind of concealing it.”

Despite personal struggles, Julia never stopped loving her son, he said.

Since last Friday, Byrne has heard from family and friends struggling to understand Julia’s final action and the pain it caused. Julia’s best friend, Alyssa Carr, thinks fondly of the friendship Blake had with Carr’s two-and-a-half-year-old daughter.

“He was just a really happy, cheerful kid, and just had a wild spirit and just enjoyed life,” said Carr. “It was really great to get to know him while he was still here.”

Julia and Carr had been friends for over twenty years, from their days in Girl Scouts, attending Pembroke schools and going on hikes and camping trips.

Carr said Julia was always there for her.

“We were more like sisters and not just like best friends,” said Carr. “It’s hard to put into words how amazing she really was. She was always an inspiration to me.”

Final moments

Byrne’s house had felt warmer since Julia’s return. He cherished the simple joys she brought, like the comforting aromas of beef stew she prepared for her father and her son.

“She had two kids she was taking care of, a younger one and an older one,” Byrne said, referring to himself with a strained laugh, his face flushing as he tried to push through the weight of the moment.

He had most often been “Grampy” to the energetic 3-year-old, but in the last few weeks, Blake sometimes called him “Dad.”

In the days leading up to the shooting, things at home had started to feel increasingly precarious, Byrne said. It was as though Julia was torn between two sides of her personality, a struggle her father couldn’t fully understand or control.

“She couldn’t leave Blake. She cared so much about him that she wanted him to be safe,” he said, his voice breaking. “I think some of the issues she was dealing with were making her judgment off on what might happen to him, however she was perceiving reality at times.”

Sitting on his 10-acre property, listening to birds chirping from the tree branches and watching violets bloom in the garden — flowers Blake loved to nibble on — Byrne couldn’t help but wonder at how perfect a place this would have been for his grandson to grow up. He’s remained at home because it helps him feel closer to Julia and Blake.

Byrne’s last memory of his daughter and grandson is simple: Blake, laughing and playing in the bathtub, splashing water everywhere, and Julia sitting nearby on the toilet seat, her eyes never leaving him.

That was four hours before their final breaths.

Byrne, who was asleep in his own bedroom, heard two gunshots in the early hours last Friday morning. He rushed to their bedroom to find Julia holding Blake, he recalled. Neither showed any signs of movement. As a medical professional, he performed CPR on Blake, hoping to give him a chance at survival. Blake was taken to Concord Hospital, where he was pronounced dead. Both mother and son died of a single gunshot wound to the head.

Byrne said he wishes he and his family could have done more to help Julia, to reach her in her darkest moments before she did the unthinkable.

One memory gives him some solace, even if just a little: When he found them both in the bedroom, there was no crying, no moaning, no groaning — just silence, he said.

“In her mind, it was her protecting her child, as confusing as that may seem,” said Byrne. “She was a great mother, that’s the part I can remember her for.” 

If you need help

National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: If you or someone you know needs support now, call or text 988 or chat at 988lifeline.org.

NH Rapid Response Access Point: If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health and/or substance use crisis, call/text 1-833-710-6477 to speak to trained clinical staff.

Sruthi Gopalakrishnan can be reached at sgopalakrishnan@cmonitor.com

A GoFundMe page has been set up in memory of Julia and Blake