It's 4:45am, and I can't sleep.
Yesterday, four more lives were senselessly lost in Georgia because of gun violence. Nine others were injured. The suspect is a 14-year-old boy and used an "AR-style platform weapon." He was interviewed by the FBI just last year after allegedly making online threats. He denied them. His father said only hunting guns were in the house and that his child did not have unsupervised access to them.
I can't stop thinking about those four lives lost. I can't stop thinking about the shock of receiving news that your child's school is under attack and the agonizing drive, and the wait, that follows, praying and pleading with God that your child has been spared.
Whenever a tragedy like this happens—and in the United States, it happens often; this is the 45th school shooting this year—my mind immediately goes to, How can I protect my own child from this? Do we commit to private school, just to mitigate the risk? Do we homeschool? But then I remember that we aren't safe anywhere in America. This isn't just happening in our schools. This is happening where we work, where we grocery shop, where we worship.
It's an epidemic. It's a nightmare.
I grew up in a conservative, predominately Catholic community. It was, and still is, the kind of place where neighbors look out for each other. They genuinely care. They show up, so to speak, no matter how casual the relationship. It's incredible.
But it's also a community where churches nail white crosses into their lawns to mark and mourn abortions. Schools send busloads of students to the March for Life every January. I can remember receiving a shiny silver "baby feet" pin that I was expected to adorn to the collar of my uniform.
So, where is the outrage for the lives lost to gun violence? Why isn't all of this concern, this massive amount of energy and resources, given to the lives that are already here?
I was a very political child. (Yes, I realize how nerdy that is.) At age 6, I proudly voted for Bob Dole in my first grade election (He won in our version of things). At age 10, I daydreamed about becoming a judge. At age 14, I begged my dad to take me to an event where President George W. Bush was speaking. At age 18, I was voted Most Likely to Become President in my high school yearbook.
I know I surprised a lot of longtime friends and family members when I started inching towards the middle of the political spectrum, and then eventually to the left. While Donald Trump's path to the White House certainly played a part in this, it was largely because of gun violence and the lack of common sense gun laws.
I could no longer support politicians who placed the Second Amendment over actual human lives. I could no longer support a party with members who wear AR-15 rifle pins on their lapels. I could no longer support a party who built this strange sort of hierarchy where it was decided the unborn are more valuable than the lives that are already here.
(For the record, I wish we could all unite behind stronger sex education and birth control. I wish we could strive to prevent women from finding themselves in these impossible situations to begin with. I also wish we could all get behind social programs that support these babies [and their families] once they do come into the world. And as for other situations, the ones that often involve parents who really, really wanted that baby, it's just not anyone else's business.)
I was nine years old when the Columbine massacre happened. Twelve students and one teacher were murdered. Twenty-one others were injured. I started to have nightmares then, and I have those same nightmares today. That was twenty-five years ago, and the situation is worse than ever before.
How did we get here, America?
I know we're better than this. I know we genuinely care about each other. I see that every day. I see it in the phlebotomist who rubbed my arm and gave me water and a snack when I fainted during a recent blood draw. I see it in the luxury vehicle that slowed and allowed me to merge during hectic rush hour traffic. I see it in my daughter's daycare providers who wipe her nose and soothe her during tearful drop-offs.
As Hoda Kotb just sighed on The Today Show, “Something needs to be done. Something needs to be done.”
We need to do something about the guns.
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