Why would anyone would want to hold another life so precariously in their hand?
A hunk of cold, black metal the only thing between your own warm hand and the ability to stop someone’s heart from pushing blood through their body.
A man-made machine created to kill.
Designed to steal another’s life from their body.
My heart is crushed every time there is a mass murder. I cry. I think about my child. Her friends. My friend’s children. My husband who is a teacher. I think about the families of all who were killed.
We lower all the flags to half mast. Everyone discuss whether the solution to our children – PEOPLE’S BABIES – from being killed is to give more people – TEACHERS! – weapons. Everyone screams into the ether on Facebook about thoughts and prayers. Everyone considers mental health issues. Families consider home schooling because our public schools are now too dangerous.
I want to scream. I want to yell. I am so angry.
But all of this won’t change anything: We’ll all wake up in a few weeks to more disastrous news. Another shooting at another school. Another white man who felt so slighted by what he was dealt in life that he needs to murder local school children with a gun. He’ll either shoot himself or be shot by police. We’ll hear his sob story. His tale of how he dabbled in white supremacy but only because it’s so hard to be a white man in America will become news – but only for a day then will disappear. We’ll argue about the definition of terrorism.
I’m going to throw up.
Have you heard of Sarah Winchester? Sarah’s wealth was inherited from her husband’s family – the Winchesters who became wealthy selling their guns ( … 8 million of them) to various countries across the world. After her husband’s death and the death of her baby, Sarah hid herself away. Away from the blood money.
Sarah Winchester felt so much guilt about her husband’s killing empire that she moved to a remote location and built a house with mysterious staircases and doors. A house with 200 rooms, 10,000 windows, 47 fireplaces, and 2,000 doors, trap doors, and spy holes. A house in which, aside from hired builders, she lived in solitude.
The wife of a man who got wealthy selling guns hid herself away in a mysterious mansion because she felt so much guilt for being privy to the killing her husband’s family created.
Let that sink in.
No more killing. No more guns. No more hiding our babies under their desks. No more teachers with lockdown keys.
Contact your elected officials.
Join your local Moms Demand Action group.
Donate to Everytown.
Tell the world your kid is more important than their gun.