In a moment of reflection, I find myself in the comfort of my kitchen, surrounded by my four children. After the school day, I feel a wave of relief wash over me when my oldest three return home safely. Yet, my sense of security is shattered upon hearing news of a shooting at a center for individuals with developmental disabilities. Meanwhile, my youngest happily plays with her toy Nativity set, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding outside.
As I distribute after-school snacks, a nagging worry creeps in: will they reach adulthood? Will I witness their growth? I ponder the reality that even if I manage to keep them safe through college, they could still fall victim to an act of violence by someone seeking to inflict harm. I’ve lived a fulfilling life, yet I know that children can cope with the loss of a parent—I did. If I were to become a statistic in a random act of violence at a public space, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my children would eventually be alright. This knowledge is what propels me out of the house each day.
I grew up in a different era. I rode in cars without seatbelts, skated without a helmet, and spent hours away from home without a way to contact my parents. My children, in contrast, are secured in car seats designed for maximum safety, likely never having encountered a cigarette. They are wrapped in layers of protective gear when they ride their bikes, and I’ve only recently begun allowing my eldest to venture from my sight for brief moments.
However, all of this precaution feels futile in a world where gun violence is a daily reality. No number of security measures—checkpoints, locked doors, or surveillance cameras—can guarantee safety. The harsh truth remains: individuals intent on causing harm find ways to infiltrate these barriers.
I don’t claim to have answers. The rhetoric from public figures often asserts that guns aren’t the problem; yet they fail to provide a viable alternative explanation. Some attribute violence to religion or drugs, while others suggest the government is our true adversary.
Yet, I’m not fearful of the government; my concern lies with firearms and the individuals wielding them. It perplexes me that the solution proposed by some is not to reduce the number of guns, but to increase them. I seek clarity on this issue, as the implications for my children’s futures weigh heavily on my mind.
As my youngest reaches out to me with a toy angel, her innocent smile brings a moment of joy amidst my worries. She remains blissfully unaware of the dangers surrounding us, and I grapple with how to shield her from this harsh reality for as long as possible.