What should have been a weekend of celebration in central Nebraska became one of the darkest tragedies the community has ever seen.
On May 10, deputies from the Dawson County Sheriff’s Office discovered four bodies inside a quiet lakeside home near Holdrege. The victims were identified as 42-year-old Jeremy Koch, his wife Bailey, 39, and their two teenage sons, Hudson, 18, and Asher, 16.
Authorities believe Jeremy killed his wife and sons before taking his own life. The motive points to long-term mental illness — a struggle that Bailey had openly, even desperately, tried to help her husband fight.
Days before the tragedy, Bailey’s final social-media posts revealed a family hanging on by a thread. She had written candidly about Jeremy’s deteriorating condition, her exhaustion, and her fear that his depression had reached a point of no return.
In one post, she wrote: “May is Mental Health Awareness Month, so here we are… making you aware.” She pleaded for understanding and support, explaining that her husband had battled depression since 2009 and had attempted suicide multiple times. “Jeremy cannot get out of bed unless forced,” she wrote. “By not eating or drinking, Jeremy is slowly completing suicide.”
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The words, raw and honest, were more than a cry for help — they were a record of a family in crisis, fighting against a disease that few outside their home could fully grasp.
Bailey, a respected special-education teacher at Holdrege Public Schools, had started a GoFundMe to cover treatment expenses for her husband, who had recently undergone electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). She had hoped it might bring him back. “It didn’t work,” she wrote later. “Jeremy became a shell of himself.”
Behind the calm tone of her public posts, Bailey’s fear was growing. In March, she described waking up to find Jeremy standing over her with a knife, whispering, “Something is wrong.” She managed to calm him and get him back into care, but even then, she seemed to know the situation was fragile. “Mental illness is taking my husband from me,” she wrote. “I’m begging you to open your eyes and see the reality that is this society’s mental health crisis.”
On May 8, just two days before the killings, Bailey posted again — this time with what looked like hope. Jeremy had been released from inpatient treatment so that he could attend their eldest son Hudson’s high-school graduation, scheduled for that Saturday. “Our boys are doing well, living their lives, and for that, we are thankful,” she wrote. “Please just pray Jeremy is able to somehow be with us on Saturday for our oldest son’s high-school graduation.”
That prayer would go unanswered.
When deputies arrived at the family home that morning, all four were dead. Investigators believe Jeremy attacked his wife and sons with a knife before turning the weapon on himself.
It was Bailey’s father, Lane Kugler, who found them. In an open letter shared publicly days later, he described what no parent should ever experience — and what he believed really caused it. “Jeremy had been fighting mental illness for many, many years,” Kugler wrote. “His depression had turned into psychosis. It was not Jeremy who committed this horrific act. It was a sick mind.”
The words struck a painful truth: the man who killed his family was not simply a criminal — he was a husband and father consumed by an untreated, unrelenting illness.
Bailey’s school district issued a statement expressing sorrow and solidarity. “Our hearts are with everyone impacted by a tragic event that has deeply affected us all,” Holdrege Public Schools said. “Bailey was a dedicated educator, a bright presence, and an advocate for children who needed extra care and patience. We will miss her dearly.”
Neighbors and colleagues echoed that sentiment. Friends described Bailey as compassionate and selfless — the type of teacher who brought extra food for students who went hungry and stayed late to help struggling kids. “She was one of those rare people who gave everything,” said one coworker. “She tried so hard to save him. None of us knew how bad it really was.”
The Kochs were a close family. Hudson, 18, was described as kind and ambitious, preparing to study engineering after graduation. Asher, 16, was funny, artistic, and protective of his mother. The two brothers were reportedly inseparable — sharing a love of fishing, video games, and sports. The night before their deaths, a friend had texted Hudson to confirm weekend plans. He never got a reply.
As investigators continue their work, the community of Holdrege is left asking the same question haunting families everywhere: how could this happen, and what could have stopped it?
Jeremy’s story is tragically familiar to mental-health professionals. Depression and psychosis often coexist, and untreated or poorly managed cases can lead to cognitive decline, paranoia, and suicidal or violent impulses. According to Bailey’s posts, her husband’s access to care had been inconsistent and expensive, despite years of effort. “We’re doing everything right,” she wrote at one point. “Therapy, medication, hospitalization. But nothing is working.”
Her GoFundMe page told a similar story — a mixture of hope, fear, and exhaustion. “If you can donate, thank you. If you can’t, please pray. My husband needs light. He needs hope.”
After the killings, that page became a digital memorial. Messages poured in from teachers, parents, and strangers who had followed Bailey’s updates. Some had contributed small donations; others simply wrote, “You were seen,” “You tried,” “You didn’t fail him.”
Experts say stories like this highlight systemic problems in mental-health care. Chronic depression with psychotic features requires long-term, coordinated treatment, yet families often find themselves alone, managing crisis after crisis without sufficient support. Bailey’s repeated pleas for help — posted publicly, in real time — were a heartbreaking reflection of that gap.
In his letter, Bailey’s father said he wanted people to talk more openly about mental illness. “It was a sick mind that did this,” he wrote. “My daughter tried to save her husband. She gave everything. The system failed them both.”
As the shock slowly gives way to grief, the community has organized vigils for the Koch family. Teachers from Bailey’s school read from her favorite Bible verses. Students placed flowers and letters outside her classroom window. Friends of Hudson and Asher wore ribbons in the school colors, their graduation robes hanging untouched at home.
One teacher summed it up simply: “Bailey wanted the world to see what untreated mental illness does to families. Now we all see it — too late.”
In the weeks since, the story has sparked difficult but necessary conversations about how communities respond to mental-health crises — how many warning signs go ignored, how much silence still surrounds the subject, and how few safety nets exist for those living on the edge.
For many, the Koch family’s story will remain more than a tragedy; it’s a wake-up call. Behind the smiling photos, the cheerful Facebook updates, and the well-kept home was a woman begging for help, a man slipping further into darkness, and two sons caught in the path of something no one could stop.
Now, that lakeside home stands empty — a symbol of love, despair, and the cost of a broken system. And the words Bailey wrote just days before her death echo louder than ever:
“I have no pride left. Mental illness is taking my husband from me. Please, open your eyes.”
Because if any good can come from what happened, it’s in those words — a plea that still matters for every family fighting the same invisible war.