On November 13th, I found myself in the company of a group of dedicated volunteers from a gun violence prevention organization, discussing a project that has consumed nearly two years of my life. Alongside me was Mia Johnson, a resilient survivor of a school shooting and a passionate advocate for sensible gun legislation. The gathering took place in a cozy independent bookstore in Northeast Philadelphia, where the stories of survival and resilience were shared, enveloping us in a sense of warmth.
Being surrounded by fellow advocates provided me with a measure of comfort as I reflected on the importance of the narratives we were sharing. Each story holds a sacred place, and my co-editor and I feel a deep responsibility to honor the voices of those who have experienced unimaginable trauma. After engaging in heartfelt discussions about the accounts featured in our book, including those from tragic events like Parkland and Sandy Hook, we mingled with attendees, signing books and exchanging hugs. As the evening progressed, the crowd began to disperse, and we made promises to meet again soon—though we all understood that those promises were underlined by the haunting possibility of facing each other again too soon, in response to another school shooting.
The next day, while visiting a historic site with my mother, my phone buzzed with messages bearing the devastating news of yet another school shooting. My heart sank. How could this be happening again? Just the night before, we had gathered to share hope and resilience, and now we were confronted with fresh heartbreak.
We hurried back to our hotel room, where I turned on the news coverage of the Santa Clarita shooting. The familiar images of traumatized young faces filled the screen, and I felt an overwhelming sense of dread for my own daughters, who were 200 miles away in a sixth-grade classroom. Were they safe? In that moment, I felt a rising panic, compounded by the knowledge that I had a presentation to give later that evening at another gun violence prevention event. I texted my husband, urging him to hold our girls close that night. My heart was heavy for those parents who faced the unthinkable.
Since embarking on this book project in January 2018, I have formed connections with many parents whose lives have been irreversibly altered by gun violence. I carry their stories with me daily, aware that each hug I give my daughters is a reminder of those who can no longer do the same.
That day, as I prepared for my second event of the weekend, I couldn’t shake the anger and sadness I felt for the families in Santa Clarita who had just joined a club no one wishes to be a part of. I contemplated canceling my appearance, but the thought of the survivors whose stories we were sharing pushed me to proceed. We needed to keep fighting.
The event in Haddonfield took place in a large church that quickly filled with attentive faces. I was joined by another survivor, Linda Carter, whose son had endured a shooting at Virginia Tech. Seeing her brought a wave of emotion, as we both understood the pain of the parents affected by the latest tragedy. As I began my presentation, I struggled to focus. But as I shared the stories of those lost—Emilie Parker, Daniel Barden, Nick Dworet, and others—I felt them guiding me through the presentation.
To conclude, I read a piece reflecting on my journey with the Sandy Hook community, whose tragedy sparked my commitment to gun violence prevention. Halfway through, the tears I had fought back fell freely, and the room filled with shared grief. We were united in our sorrow for the lives shattered by gun violence.
Afterward, amidst the tears, came a renewed determination to advocate for change. Attendees embraced one another while a kind woman offered me an embroidered handkerchief she had made for those in need. As I signed books and conversed with participants, I felt a collective resolve to carry the stories of survivors into our activism.
As we drove back over the bridge, I realized that despite the heaviness of the day, I was exactly where I needed to be. Back in the hotel, I called my daughters, but “I love you” felt insufficient. I was doing this for them. The distance between us felt insurmountable, yet I knew we had to keep fighting for a safer future.
Conclusion
In summary, this narrative highlights the ongoing struggle against gun violence and the emotional toll it takes on survivors and their families. The author recounts attending an event aimed at raising awareness and advocating for change, only to be confronted by the news of another tragic school shooting the following day. Ultimately, it underscores the importance of community, resilience, and the need for continued activism in the face of overwhelming grief.