The recent tragedy at the Dennis M. Lynch Arena in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, has once again thrust the nation’s ongoing mental health crisis into the spotlight. On February 16, 2026, during what should have been an ordinary high school hockey game, a 56-year-old individual identified as Robert Dorgan—also known as Roberta Esposito—opened fire in the stands. The attack claimed two lives, including those of his ex-wife and adult son, while leaving three others critically injured. Dorgan ultimately died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

What began as a family gathering turned into an unimaginable scene of violence, leaving the local community, the hockey world, and families across the country grappling with grief and unanswered questions.

In the immediate aftermath, Dorgan’s daughter spoke publicly outside the Pawtucket Police Department. Visibly shaken, she identified the shooter as her father and revealed that he had been “very sick” for much of his adult life, struggling profoundly with mental health challenges. “He had been struggling with mental health for quite some time—he was very sick,” she told reporters. She further suggested that his gender identity issues appeared to be “a symptom of a deeper issue,” pointing to a long history of untreated turmoil rather than any single cause.

Her words echoed a painful reality: behind the headlines of violence often lies a story of profound inner suffering that went unaddressed for years.

Court records and family accounts paint a picture of escalating personal struggles. Dorgan had reportedly undergone gender reassignment surgery several years earlier, a transition that became a flashpoint in family disputes. Divorce filings from 2020 cited irreconcilable differences tied to these changes, alongside mentions of narcissistic traits and personality disorder concerns—details later revised but indicative of deep relational fractures. Over time, these conflicts reportedly involved allegations of domestic issues, threats, and a growing sense of isolation. Dorgan’s daughter described a “long history of violence” and instability, noting that her father had refused treatment despite clear signs of distress.

In the days leading up to the incident, reports emerged of online rants expressing frustration over trans rights and personal grievances, including threats to “go berserk”—warnings that, in hindsight, underscored a deteriorating mental state.

Local authorities, including Pawtucket Police Chief Tina Goncalves, described the shooting as targeted and stemming from a family dispute rather than a random act of terror. Witnesses recounted chaos as shots rang out during the game between Coventry and Blackstone Valley teams. Players and spectators dove for cover, with one brave bystander—a fellow hockey parent—stepping in to help subdue the shooter before he could continue. Tragically, the intervention came too late to prevent the loss of life.

No players on the ice were harmed, but the psychological impact on the young athletes, their families, and the broader community will linger for years.

This incident is not isolated. It joins a growing list of violent events where untreated or inadequately managed mental illness has played a central role. From workplace shootings to domestic tragedies, experts repeatedly point to the same pattern: individuals in crisis, often disconnected from support systems, reaching a breaking point with devastating consequences. In Dorgan’s case, family members noted a refusal to seek help, compounded by what his daughter described as deeper, underlying issues manifesting in various ways, including identity struggles.

While gender identity itself is not inherently linked to violence, the intersection of personal transition, familial rejection, societal pressures, and untreated co-occurring mental health conditions can create a perfect storm of despair.

The timing of this tragedy amplifies its urgency. Mental health professionals have long warned that crises like depression, personality disorders, bipolar conditions, and severe anxiety often go undiagnosed or untreated due to stigma, lack of access, or denial. In the United States, millions live with serious mental illness, yet barriers—financial, cultural, logistical—prevent many from receiving care. The National Alliance on Mental Illness estimates that over half of adults with mental illness receive no treatment in a given year. When combined with access to firearms, as appears to have been the case here, the risk escalates dramatically.

In response to the Pawtucket shooting, Rhode Island Governor Dan McKee swiftly announced expanded mental health resources, including a statewide virtual support hub offering crisis counseling, school-based services, and referrals for domestic violence and suicide prevention. The governor urged anyone in need to call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, emphasizing that “no one is alone.” Local officials echoed this call, pledging counseling for affected students, families, and first responders.

Pawtucket Mayor Donald Grebien described the event as a “stark reminder” of the intertwined threats of gun violence and domestic turmoil, while state representatives stressed that firearms were merely the means—not the root cause—of such horrors. As one legislator noted, “Violence of this nature almost always involves deeper factors—severe or untreated mental health struggles, instability, isolation, and warning signs that were missed or ignored.”

The daughter’s plea cuts to the heart of the matter: when will society treat mental health crises with the urgency they demand? Too often, these tragedies become politicized flashpoints—debates over guns, identity, or ideology—while the core issue of healing fractured minds is sidelined. Real support means more than thoughts and prayers; it requires accessible therapy, reduced stigma, early intervention programs, and community systems that catch people before they spiral. It means funding parity between physical and mental health care, training for educators and employers to recognize warning signs, and cultural shifts that encourage vulnerability over silence.

This heartbreaking case in Rhode Island is a call to action. The shooter was not a monster born of malice alone but a person described by his own child as profoundly ill, adrift in storms of the mind that no one fully navigated with him. The victims—family members caught in the crossfire of that illness—deserved better. The surviving children, including those on the ice that day, deserve a world where such pain is met with compassion and resources rather than division.

As communities mourn and heal, let this tragedy not fade into the next news cycle. Instead, let it galvanize a renewed commitment to mental health: more funding for crisis centers, broader insurance coverage for therapy, destigmatization campaigns, and proactive outreach to those in isolation. Only by prioritizing healing over headlines can we hope to prevent the next unimaginable loss. The daughter’s words linger as both lament and challenge: real support is urgently needed—before inner turmoil turns outward in tragedy once more.