On Thursday afternoon, my three-year-old and I walked into the garage, ready to head to the elementary school carpool line. He tugged on the door handle, but the sliding door of my minivan wouldn’t open. I tried to start the car, and only got a wildly flashing dashboard in response. I panicked, calling my husband to come home from work and jump-start the car, sending texts to my kids teachers (I might be late! Please tell them not to worry!) and calling the school office.
My husband got the car started, and I made it to school, before I was technically considered late, but after my kids were sent to the office to wait because the carpool line had finished. They were fine, unworried and taken care of, but I was a wreck.
The whole way there, I kept thinking: What if there had been an emergency? What if something had happened at their school and I hadn’t been able to get there? I started considering how far I could make it on foot with a stroller, no sidewalks. I thought about the parents that, just two days earlier, stood outside their children’s elementary school, waiting to see whether or not their children would make it out alive.
This isn’t what I was planning to write to you about this month. I had my May newsletter almost ready to go. I was going to finish it up, add a few links, and proofread it on Tuesday night, after we got home from swim practice.
Then, on Tuesday, the Uvalde shooting happened. And I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. Everything I planned to share seems irrelevant and unimportant now, in the face of this both fresh and familiar, uniquely American, pain.
On Wednesday morning, I wrestled with how to talk to my kids about it. I took my three-year-old to his last day of preschool for the year. I got an email from our elementary school with updated security measures. I contacted my senators, and I donated to Everytown for Gun Safety.
It’s not enough. Nothing is enough, because there are nineteen sweet, innocent kids, who were celebrating their last week of school and are now dead. There are two teachers who were looking forward to their summer, and they are now dead.
I was in middle school when Columbine happened, and I so vividly remember the illusion of being safe at school shattering. When I started high school, I assessed the campus, which was made up of many buildings, connected only by outdoor breezeways. Each building had multiple entrances and exits. This is good, I thought. Lots of escape routes. But also: anyone could walk in, any time, and no one would realize it.
I never thought school shootings would become commonplace, just part of the fabric of American lives. I didn’t think that two decades later, I’d be sending my own kids to school, worried every day about their safety. I didn’t realize that lockdown drills would be a part of kindergarten, just like centers and Letterland.
But every single day when I drop my kids off at school, it’s in the back of my mind: what if?
I’ve made myself read as much of the news coverage as I can handle this week. I’ve forced myself to read the heartbreaking profiles of the victims, because we cannot ignore that the choices we have made as a country have led to the death of children, over and over.
Our shock and horror and outrage every time something like this happens is not enough. Our tears are not enough. Our thoughts and prayers are certainly not enough.
I don’t want to wonder, every day, when I watch my kids disappear into the doors of the school: is this the last time I will see them? I never want to see another breaking news alert with the words “Active Shooter.” I don’t want to live like this anymore.
So I’m committing to taking action. And I hope you will too. I’ve compiled a list of ways to help, ways to talk to kids, and words that have helped me process this latest horror below.
take action:
Contact your Senator and ask them to take action on gun safety. HR8 is the Bipartisan Background Checks Act and HR1446 is the Enhanced Background Checks Act. Both have passed the House, but not the Senate. Call 202.224.3121 (US Capitol Switchboard) or use this list to locate a direct number. Mark your calendar to call again in a week, in two weeks, every week until we finally see some change. Not sure what to say? Here's a helpful sample script from Jamie Golden. Many websites, like Everytown make it easy to sign a prefilled message. Sandy Hook Promise has a list of petitions to sign.
Donations to Everytown are being tripled through May 31.
resources:
The NYT put out a guide to talking to kids about mass shootings and Dr. Becky at Good Inside also has some advice. I started following Your Local Epidemiologist during the pandemic, and have appreciated the perspective she brings to various public health issues. Her post, We can reduce gun violence in the US, gives some good, evidence-based information.
Pantsuit Politics is a favorite of mine for helping me process the news, and their episode The Despair of Another School Shooting is worth a listen.
Finally, these words from other mothers who are living through the same terror of sending their kids into school every day, with what if always, always in the back of their minds, just like me, help me feel less alone. Did they remember to say I love you? (Ashlee Gadd) // I Will Make No Peace with This and A Prayer for Gun Violence in Schools (Kayla Craig) // Howl (Erin Strybis) // It's going to be within, like, 4o minutes or something (Kate Bogue)
until next time:
Thank you for letting me show up in your inbox—it's a privilege. I'll be back in June!