ORLANDO, Fla. — Christine Leinonen sits inside her Polk City home, surrounded by reminders of the life she once knew.
Every shelf and every wall carries her son Christopher's memory — a wall of DVDs she calls a shrine, seven framed photos capturing casual dinners, white coat ceremonies, and moments of joy.
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"Well, like you just see a picture. I see the whole story… a whole, uh, life, his whole life," Leinonen said.
She moved to the small house near Polk City, less than an hour from Orlando, to support Christopher as he pursued his bachelor's and master's degrees in psychology at UCF. He was in the process of pursuing a doctorate.
"He was a sweetheart. He was nice," she said.
Christopher had a wide circle of friends and a partner named Juan.
"He never, he never came out as gay," Leinonen said. "Christopher, he's like, Mom, I think I met the man that I'm going to marry, and that was just so, uh… I'm like, really, that was Juan."
On the morning of June 12, 2016, Christopher and Juan spent the day at SeaWorld. That night, Leinonen said their plan was simple.
"They had a long hot day at SeaWorld, they're ready to go home and just chill out, drink some wine, watch some movies, and that was gonna be it," she said.
But in the early morning hours, her world forever changed.
"I have an insomnia problem, so I went to bed at midnight and I got up before 3 o'clock in the morning. I'm like on Facebook and I see Brandon, Brandon Wolf — he was one of Christopher's best friends — he's like there's been a shooting at the club. I hope my friends are OK. So I called Brandon and I said, was Christopher with you and he said yes," Leinonen said, her voice breaking.
Christopher was 32 years old. He was shot 9 times. Juan was 22 and was also shot multiple times. Both were among the 49 people killed in the Pulse nightclub massacre.
It took Leinonen 33 hours to learn her son was gone.
"All these people are dead. I still don't know where my son is. We're just begging, where is my son and they, they're just ignoring me," she said of law enforcement at the time.
"Oh my God, I would have gone in there. In my mind already, I was thinking I will go in there, find Christopher, put him on my back," she said. "I didn't find out for a long time. This random cop, he's like, your son is dead. And I said, well, where in the club did he die? He said he died on the dance floor at the club."
A decade later, Leinonen is still looking for answers and accountability.
"I would tell him that unfortunately, I'm still fighting for your honor, for your legacy," she said.
"To understand the pain, the lifetime of pain… I just realized it's just something that is, um, just going to be part of me until I die. It's unfortunate that so many mothers — I can identify with mothers the most — but it's unfortunate that so many mothers have to go through this," Leinonen said.
She has been outspoken on gun reform and wrote a book called Control the False Narrative, about her pursuit of a lawsuit over what she believes were response failures, permit problems, and code violations the night of the shooting.
In May, I was in Orlando as demolition crews tore down the Pulse nightclub. People on scene were hopeful to close out a chapter and start new, but others worried potential evidence of critical issues and violations at the nightclub would be lost with the demolition.
Orlando Mayor Buddy Dyer declined to comment when pushed for answers about calls for accountability.
A permanent memorial is expected to open in fall 2027.
"Everybody says, well, at least you have the memories," Leinonen said. "But it's not just the memories. If you're my child and I'm looking at you, I'm like, 'Oh yeah, I wonder what kind of old man you're gonna be.' We see way beyond your lifespan… and it just all disappeared."
"It's crazy and some things have gotten a lot easier and some things they just refresh back," she said.
