The killing of Chris Kyle, the celebrated “American Sniper,” by Eddie Ray Routh shocked the nation and ignited a complex debate that extended far beyond a simple crime. To understand why Eddie Ray Routh shot Chris Kyle, we must delve into the troubled mind of a former Marine, the circumstances leading up to the fatal day, and the critical questions raised about mental health care for veterans. This article explores the events, medical history, and trial that attempted to answer the haunting question: what drove Eddie Ray Routh to kill a national hero?
Eddie Ray Routh’s life in the months preceding the shooting was marked by increasing instability and fear. Living with his parents in Lancaster, Texas, the 25-year-old veteran was grappling with severe anxiety and paranoia. Diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), his symptoms pointed towards a deeper, more serious mental illness. Routh himself confessed to a forensic psychologist his belief that his coworkers were cannibals plotting to consume him.
His anxiety was so crippling that Routh couldn’t drive himself to work. His mother, Jodi, became his daily chauffeur, dropping him off at the cabinet shop where he was employed before heading to her own job at a local elementary school. This arrangement left Routh alone for hours each afternoon, a period his mother dreaded. “When I’d start back to the house,” Jodi recounted, “I’d be like, ‘Please don’t let me find him dead.’ I was so afraid he was going to kill himself. Because that’s what he wanted.” His distress was palpable, often manifesting in him seeking comfort in his mother’s bed at night, a stark contrast to his imposing 6’2” Marine physique. “This was a 6’2 Marine,” she explained, “A tough man calling for his mama.”
On the morning of February 1, 2013, the day before the tragic shooting, Routh’s preoccupation with his spiritual well-being was evident. Upon arriving at the cabinet shop with his mother, he requested they pray together. In the parking lot, Jodi held her son’s hand as he, wiry and nervous, with an unkempt beard and troubled eyes, asked the Lord to protect his parents. Unbeknownst to Jodi, while she found solace in the fact that Routh’s girlfriend would be staying with him and his uncle would check in, Eddie had made plans of his own. Chris Kyle and his friend, Chad Littlefield, were scheduled to take him to a shooting range the next day.
Chris Kyle’s tragic death sent shockwaves through Texas and the nation. He was more than just a former Navy SEAL; he was a celebrated figure, a hero memorialized at Texas Stadium, home of the Dallas Cowboys. His fame resonated deeply with gun enthusiasts, who admired him as a modern-day icon, further solidified by his bestselling books. American Gun: A History of the U.S. in Ten Firearms and his autobiography, American Sniper, cemented his legend. American Sniper detailed his four tours in Iraq and his record of 160 confirmed kills, making him a military legend.
The impact of Kyle’s story was immense. Even as Routh’s murder trial commenced in Stephenville on February 11, 2014, the film adaptation of American Sniper, starring Bradley Cooper, was playing in local theaters. Outside the courthouse, vendors capitalized on Kyle’s image, selling Chris Kyle baseball caps. Governor Greg Abbott declared February 2nd “Chris Kyle Day,” further emphasizing the hero status of the victim.
Routh’s defense hinged on his mental state at the time of the killings, arguing insanity. Their medical expert, a forensic psychiatrist, challenged the PTSD diagnosis, suggesting instead that Routh was schizophrenic and suffering from paranoid delusions. In a videotaped confession played during the trial, Routh’s words hinted at a disturbed mindset, stating about Kyle, “I knew if I did not take his soul, he was going to take mine.”
The prosecution countered that Routh was a psychopath, his erratic behavior a calculated act to avoid imprisonment. The jury sided with the prosecution, delivering a guilty verdict after less than two hours of deliberation, sentencing Routh to life in prison without parole.
The immediate aftermath painted a simplistic picture: Chris Kyle, the epitome of a “good guy with a gun,” was murdered by Eddie Ray Routh, a “bad guy with a gun.” Marcus Luttrell, another former Navy SEAL and author of Lone Survivor, echoed this sentiment in a tweet, suggesting Routh would face further retribution in prison.
However, the reality behind the tragedy was far more nuanced. Jodi and Raymond Routh, Eddie’s parents, provided The Trace with access to hundreds of pages of confidential medical records, revealing a history of mental illness largely absent from the trial narrative. These documents supported the defense’s expert testimony, indicating Routh experienced psychotic breaks and exhibited signs of schizophrenia in the two years preceding Kyle’s murder. This evidence raised critical questions about the adequacy of Routh’s treatment at the Dallas VA hospital.
Dr. Amam Saleh, a forensic psychiatrist who reviewed Routh’s medical records for The Trace, noted, “[The VA] should have been more careful … when he was presenting with much clearer psychotic symptoms. Something was missed.”
Routh’s military service included a six-month deployment in 2007 to a forward operating base near Baghdad, where he worked as a weapons repairman and prison guard. In 2010, he participated in a humanitarian mission to Haiti after the devastating earthquake. Routh described to his parents the grim task of clearing corpses, including babies. While this account lacks documented confirmation, his mother observed a significant decline in his mental state upon his return from Haiti, stating, “he was just so messed up.”
In July 2011, a year after his honorable discharge, Routh sought help at the Dallas VA, complaining of a tapeworm infestation – a delusion medical staff found no evidence of. It was at this point that the VA initially diagnosed him with PTSD and prescribed Risperidone, an antipsychotic, alongside antidepressants.
Days later, Routh threatened suicide with his father’s .357 Magnum, leading to another VA admission lasting nearly two weeks. Clinical notes from August 3rd explicitly described Routh as “psychotic.” He voiced paranoid delusions to staff, stating, “You are all in this game, I can see the smoke in the mirror, we are all actors.”
Throughout 2012, Routh’s condition worsened. His paranoia escalated to believing the government was spying on him. He reported auditory hallucinations, hearing phantom music “picked up [from] a radio station.” Another altercation with his father and a subsequent suicide threat prompted his parents to remove firearms from their home. The VA, attributing these episodes to alcohol abuse, offered inpatient treatment for alcoholism, which Routh declined. He also discontinued his medication, complaining it made him feel like a “fucking zombie.”
Early in January 2013, Jodi Routh reached out to Chris Kyle. Kyle, a civilian since 2009, was dedicated to assisting veterans with PTSD, having personally experienced the challenges of post-war readjustment. He believed in the therapeutic benefits of physical activity and shooting range practice.
Kyle’s children attended the school where Jodi worked. Aware of his work with veterans, she approached him, seeking help for Eddie. Kyle, sympathetic to her plight, took Eddie’s number and promised to call. Weeks later, they met again, and Kyle mentioned plans to take Routh shooting. Jodi, in that moment, felt a sense of relief, believing it would be a positive outlet for her son.
The VA’s repeated clearances of Routh for release after inpatient care likely contributed to this sense of false security. Each time, they deemed him no longer a threat to himself or others, seemingly fit to return to the outside world.
However, subsequent events severely challenged this judgment. On January 19th, shortly after Jodi’s conversation with Kyle, Routh experienced his most severe psychotic break. At his girlfriend Jennifer Weed’s apartment, he brandished a knife, barricaded the door, and held Weed and her roommate hostage, believing he was protecting them from “the evils of the world,” as documented in medical records. The roommate alerted police, and Routh was taken to Green Oaks Hospital in Dallas.
Clinicians at Green Oaks assessed Routh as both suicidal and homicidal. He exhibited extreme distress, crying and uttering bizarre statements. “I’ve been losing my fucking mind,” he said, adding, “Your mind is the only one you’ve got, you know?” He also displayed paranoia about surveillance, questioning a doctor, “You got any idea how long they been recording this? You know — this Mickey Mouse bullshit going on all across America?”
A Green Oaks doctor diagnosed Routh with PTSD and “first-break schizophrenia.” He was described as “paranoid and impulsively violent” after cornering a female technician. The recommendation was psychiatric hospitalization for 5 to 10 days. He was prescribed Haldol, Paxil, and Seroquel. On January 21st, he was transferred back to the Dallas VA.
Alarmingly, just three days after his VA readmission, discharge preparations began. Jodi Routh felt strongly that her son was not ready, observing his continued instability and crying spells. She requested he remain hospitalized until he could be admitted to a residential PTSD treatment program in Waco. Medical records document her plea to a social worker to expedite the process. However, she was informed that Routh would be discharged the next day because his paranoia symptoms were deemed absent, and he was not considered suicidal or homicidal.
Unlike Green Oaks, the VA seemingly overlooked the possibility of schizophrenia, an illness often manifesting in early adulthood, characterized by delusions and paranoia – symptoms Routh clearly exhibited. Dr. Saleh suggests that large VA facilities might rely too heavily on previous diagnoses, potentially overlooking evolving conditions and alternative diagnoses like schizophrenia.
The VA attributed Routh’s knife incident to substance abuse – “a recent binge on alcohol and marijuana and being off his psychiatric medications.” However, Green Oaks records indicated Routh was not intoxicated upon arrival. A psychotic break triggered by substance abuse would necessitate a different treatment approach than a naturally occurring psychotic episode, which, according to Dr. Saleh, requires more aggressive medication and extended hospitalization.
VA records noted that in a follow-up visit five days post-discharge, Routh showed no hallucinations or delusions. This brief snapshot of improvement, however, was used to determine he did not qualify for Mental Health Intensive Case Management, despite his documented history of suicidal and homicidal ideation. He was not deemed a high enough risk for more intensive support.
Medication dosages were increased, but the new prescriptions were not issued until “on or about Feb 2, 2013,” the very day of the shooting range trip with Chris Kyle and Chad Littlefield.
News reports indicate that on that fateful morning, Routh and Jennifer Weed had an argument. Weed left their residence around 10 AM, expecting to see him later – they had gotten engaged the previous night. Later, Routh was visited by his uncle, James Watson. They smoked marijuana, and Routh drank whiskey.
Chris Kyle, driving his Ford F-350, arrived with Chad Littlefield that afternoon. Routh, without informing anyone, got into the truck. Jodi was out of town. “If Chris had called me that day, and told me what they were doing,” Jodi later said, “I would have said no, it’s a bad idea.”
As Kyle drove, he sensed something was amiss with Routh, seated in the back. He texted Littlefield, “This dude is straight-up nuts.” Littlefield replied, “He’s right behind me, watch my six.”
Around 3 PM, they arrived at Rough Creek Lodge, an upscale resort with extensive grounds, including a shooting range Kyle had helped design. After raising a red Bravo flag to signal the range was in use, the three men began shooting.
Two hours later, an employee discovered the bodies. Kyle was found face down, shot six times with a .45-caliber pistol, a fatal bullet piercing his aorta. Littlefield was shot seven times with a 9mm Sig Sauer handgun, engraved with a Navy anchor – Kyle’s weapons, used by Routh against them.
[Photo illustration: Joel Arbaje. Featured photos courtesy of Jodi Routh and AP]
In conclusion, the question of “Why Did Eddie Ray Routh Shoot Chris Kyle?” does not yield a simple answer. While the trial presented a narrative of a calculated crime, deeper examination reveals a tragedy rooted in severe, inadequately treated mental illness. Eddie Ray Routh’s actions were likely driven by a combination of untreated schizophrenia, paranoia, and delusions, culminating in a horrific act of violence against Chris Kyle and Chad Littlefield. The case underscores the critical need for improved mental health care for veterans and a more nuanced understanding of the complexities behind such tragedies, moving beyond simplistic narratives of “good versus evil.”
