LEWISTON – On May 21, 18-year-old Laurier “Larry” Belanger Jr. walked into a department store in Auburn and bought a 20-gauge shotgun. Then, the Lewiston High graduate and member of the Army National Guard went home and put an end to his dreams of becoming a military policeman and Maine state trooper.

His mother, Catherine Crowley, found him on his couch less than two days later, dead from a self-inflicted wound.

Crowley is still trying to understand. But she’s not waiting for answers. She has become an activist working to prevent other teens from a similar fate. She wants to prevent another family from living her nightmare.

Teenagers are impulsive, she said. If “my Larry” had a waiting period and couldn’t get the gun so easily, “he would be sitting right here with me now,” Crowley said Tuesday while sitting at her kitchen table.

Maine law says a person must be 21 to buy a handgun, but 18 for a shotgun. “I don’t understand how a kid can walk into Wal-Mart and walk out 20 minutes later with a shotgun. I don’t understand how this can be so.”

On her table sits a book listing all of the state’s legislators. “The book is done,” Crowley said, explaining she has written letters to all 186 senators and representatives, as well as Gov. John Baldacci, begging them to make it more difficult for teenagers to buy a shotgun.

“I will do whatever it takes to open people’s eyes to this and change the laws,” she said in the letter. Rep. Margaret Craven, D-Lewiston, said she has filed papers in Augusta for a bill that would raise the purchasing age to 21. “She said she’s going to call it The Laurier Belanger bill,'” Crowley said.

In addition, Sen. Ethan Strimling, D-Portland, said he’s looking at proposing a waiting period for anyone under 21 buying a shotgun.

Larry’s life, last days

Belanger was one of four children. He had two older sisters and a twin sister. “He’s wanted to be a policeman since the age of 6,” his mother said. He studied law enforcement at Lewiston High School. After his junior year in the summer of 2003, he begged his mother to sign papers allowing him to join the Army Guard. She didn’t at first, until he asked her to visit the recruiter with him.

Her first question to the recruiter was, will he go to Iraq? She was assured he would not go for at least several years, because he needed to graduate high school and have military training. Crowley signed.

Belanger spent last summer at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri. “He loved it,” she said, recalling how he came home and appeared at her door in his dress greens, taking her breath away. “I cried and hugged him.” He was proud of the military police ring he got, “and showed that ring to everybody.”

In the fall he went back to high school, then completed his high school education through adult education so he could more quickly attend military police training this summer. Meanwhile, he worked as a personal care assistant at Russell Park in Lewiston.

Belanger lived in an apartment building adjacent to where his sisters, his mother and her boyfriend live. His mother described her son as responsible, and someone who liked to make people laugh. “All his residents at the nursing home loved him,” she said. “Their families said he took good care of them. When they left at night and knew Larry was working, they knew their family member was all set.”

On Saturday, May 22, someone from Russell Park called Crowley to say Larry didn’t show up for work. Crowley called him. There was no reply.

The next morning she still hadn’t heard from him. “I thought maybe he took off with his friend. I thought I’ll catch up with him some time (that day),” Crowley said. She went out to buy groceries. When she came back one of her daughters told her to check on Larry. Larry’s friend had told her he bought a gun.

“I said, Don’t be stupid. Your brother didn’t buy a gun.'” She went to his apartment to check on him and take the gun away if she found one. When she put her hand on the door, “I started shaking.”

Her boyfriend, Lee Cayton, went in ahead. After seeing Larry dead, Cayton came back out and tried to keep Crowley from entering. “I could see his legs,” she said. “He was sitting up on the couch like he was sleeping on the couch. I went around the corner and said, Hey Larry!'”

After finding him

When she saw him she started screaming. “I couldn’t breathe. I hollered, Somebody help him!'” She closed the door. “People were coming out in the hallway because I was screaming. I didn’t want people seeing him like that.”

Inside his apartment was the shotgun box, instructions and receipt. Later, she and her son’s father told police they wanted the gun destroyed. Larry had left a note saying goodbye. The note didn’t blame anyone, according to Lewiston Police Lt. Paul Harmon.

Police and emergency crews arrived. “They put me in the ambulance and wouldn’t let me out because my heart rate was out of control,” said Crowley, who has a heart condition.

Hundreds – including many Lewiston High students, people from Russell Park and members of his Bangor Guard unit – turned out for the funeral service.

Before he died, his mother said, she didn’t notice any warning signs. “He had wonderful goals. Everything was falling into place for him.”

A close friend of his who lived in the same building died from a heart attack, which was a loss to him. And he and a girlfriend had recently broken up. But those facts didn’t add up to his killing himself, his mother said, adding that he was looking forward to military training this summer. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. On the Friday before, we had a barbecue together. He was his usual happy, make-everybody-laugh self.”

But the police report indicated that before he died, Belanger was despondent. He told co-workers he had bought a shotgun to kill himself. The information did not reach his mother.

Since her son’s death, Crowley has lost weight, suffered anxiety and depression. She cries often. She meets with a counselor once a week. Her attention has turned to politics and learning how to prevent teenage suicides.

“How could we, as a society, not know we lose 40,000 teenagers a year, 68 percent from firearms?” she asked. “How could I have never heard of such a thing? Somebody has to say enough.’ Kids don’t stop and think that next week or next month things could be better,” she said. If suicide comes into their mind and they act on it, “there’s no second chance.”

Days after her son’s death, she went into Wal-Mart. Upset and angry, Crowley brought with her his 8-by-10 portrait. She held it up, showing it to clerks in the gun department and asked them if his death was worth the sale.

A manager was called to talk to Crowley. He said he didn’t know what to say, he was sorry for her loss. He then gave her a card with an 1-800 crisis number. “I said, You should put this number with every handgun and shotgun you sell. Help somebody who needs help when they need it. Why isn’t one of these in every one of those (gun) boxes?”

The manager told Crowley that if she wanted to change the shotgun sales policy, she should talk to her legislator. “I said, I’m going to do just that.”