As I watched the bus stop this morning, I lingered for a moment, staring after the bus as it pulled away. There was a heaviness in my chest, a tightness that wouldn’t let go. Another school shooting happened. This time in Winder, GA. A 14 year old boy with an Assault Style rifle took the lives of four people and wounded 9 others before he was apprehended. It's starting to feel like an inevitable part of life in this country.
There’s the usual excitement that comes with the start of a new school year, but recently, that excitement is clouded. I’ve been separated for almost two years, but this is our first school year in our own home. It should feel like a milestone — a fresh start, a new chapter in our lives. And yet, instead of feeling the joy of a routine finally settling into place, I’m faced with the worry of whether my kids will come home safe.
Events like these put me on shaky ground. Today I found myself thankful that the kids schools are in close proximity to each other. That if I needed to be there, I could get to both in under 5 minutes. A horrifying thought but a reality for every parent in America. With every new report, my mind reels for at least a few days (just long enough for the latest round of "thoughts and prayers" to dissipate). It's more than navigating the challenges of new single motherhood, but also the reality that my children are growing up in a world where gun violence in schools has become terrifyingly normal.
We live in a country where gun violence is not just a possibility — it feels like an inevitability. The statistics don’t lie. According to the CDC, firearms are the leading cause of death for children and teens in the U.S. Let that sink in for a second. Our children are more likely to die from gun violence than from car accidents, illnesses, or anything else we typically worry about as parents. It’s not something I can brush off, and I know I’m not alone in feeling that weight
I’ve lived my entire adult life in the shadow of gun violence. Raised in a family of police officers, guns were always a presence in my home growing up, but I understood them to be tools, something to be respected and handled with care. That’s why I’ve always been in favor of responsible gun ownership. But despite my upbringing, I’ve made the choice not to keep a gun in my own home. And maybe that’s because I know, firsthand, just how dangerous they can be.
I don’t often talk about this, but I have experienced the effects of gun violence first hand. I lost both of my parents when I was 17. My father, a former police officer, shot and killed my mother before turning the gun on himself. That moment shattered and shaped my life in ways I can never fully explain. And though it’s something I’ve spent years trying to work through, I still sometimes forget just how closely my life is tied to this issue. The trauma of losing both my parents in such a violent way is something that lives inside me, even if I don’t always acknowledge it.
So when I talk about gun violence, it’s not just as a concerned mother, but as someone who’s been directly impacted by it. It’s not an abstract fear for me — it’s personal. It’s painful. And it’s something I never want my children to experience.
I wish I could shield them from this reality, but I can’t. They’ve both gone through active shooter drills at school. They know what to do if the unthinkable happens — where to hide, how to stay quiet, how to protect themselves. But I hate that this is something they even have to think about. I didn’t grow up like this. My biggest concerns were pop quizzes or making new friends. Not gunfire. Yes, I'm old enough to remember Columbine, but active shooter drills were never a part of my curriculum.
I try to talk to them about it in ways that are honest but not overwhelming. My seventh grader, is more aware of what’s happening but also more prone to worry. Active shooter drills raise his anxiety and he comes home drained. We talk about the drills, about the steps the school takes to keep everyone safe. With him, I have conversations focused around the mechanics of the drill. "Where do you go?" and "Where can I meet you? " with questions fueling the conversation. It helps him to process. But with my fourth grade, it’s different. She’s very analytical and likes to have a plan. The drills help her feel more prepared. I hate that she feels "prepared" to hide or fight for her life in a classroom. There has to be a better way. Because I'm all out of thoughts and the prayers are coming up short.
As parents, we’re carrying an impossible burden. We want to protect our children’s innocence while also preparing them for a world that feels increasingly unsafe. How do we balance those two things?
For me, part of that balance comes from advocacy. I believe we have to be vocal about this issue. We can’t just sit with our fear; we need to use it to push for change. I’ve thought a lot about what it means to advocate for change — not just for my kids, but for all kids. This isn’t just a personal issue; it’s a national crisis. The debate over gun control has polarized our country, but what we often forget is that, at the heart of it, we all want the same thing: safety for our children. Whether you own a gun or not, whether you’re pro-gun or advocate for reform, we’re all on the same page when it comes to wanting our kids to come home at the end of the school day.
That’s why I believe in responsible gun ownership, but I also believe in stronger gun safety laws. I don’t think those two ideas are mutually exclusive. In fact, I think they go hand in hand. We need background checks, waiting periods, and better mental health resources for those who may be struggling. And parents — we need to be part of that change.
So, how do we make a difference? It starts small, but it matters. We can talk to our local school boards, get involved in advocating for safety measures, and push for the kind of legislation that puts children’s safety first. We can donate to organizations like Sandy Hook Promise or Everytown for Gun Safety, who are doing the work to protect children from gun violence. And most importantly, we can keep talking about this — with our kids, with other parents, with anyone who will listen.
This was hard to write and not my not my normal style but I refuse to let this be our normal. And if you’re feeling the weight of it too, I want you to know you’re not alone. This fear, this anxiety, is something we all carry. But it’s also something we can channel into making the world a little safer for our children.
I’ve been through my share of trauma, and I’ve learned that while we can’t always change the world, we can change how we respond to it. So let’s keep talking. Let’s keep advocating. Let’s make sure our kids grow up in a world that values their safety as much as we do.
Thanks for reading. Stay safe, and hug your kiddos a little tighter tonight.
Still Trying My Best,
Alice
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