I don't have all the answers. But I know we can't stop caring, we can't stop advocating, and we can't stop showing up for one another.
In April 1999, my world was rocked by the tragedy at Columbine High School. Like so many Americans, I was horrified. I also believed—or perhaps desperately wanted to believe—that this would be a singular event in our history books. Something so unimaginable that we would never allow it to happen again.
But time moved on, and Columbine wasn't the last.
Then came December 2012.
Sandy Hook Elementary School.
Twenty beautiful first graders and six educators were killed in a place where children should have felt safe. A school just a few hours from our home. A school filled with children not so different from my own.
At the time, I had a daughter in elementary school, and I was serving as PTA president. Like so many parents, I was devastated. But I was also determined to do something.
I went to anyone in town who would listen. I asked questions, attended meetings, and pushed for conversations about how we could make our schools safer.
I organized what I believe was the first candlelight vigil in our town, and possibly the only one in Morris County at the time. We came together as neighbors, parents, educators and friends. We prayed to whomever we believed in, united by one simple wish: Please, let this violence stop.
I remember learning that evening that one of our councilmen had a nephew at Sandy Hook who, thankfully, had survived.
Suddenly, the tragedy felt even closer.
I truly believed Sandy Hook would be the turning point. That the heartbreak of losing so many little children would lead to meaningful, lasting change.
I attended meetings at the municipal and state levels. I listened. I advocated. I hoped.
And yes, some changes were made. But here we are, nearly 14 years later, and the fundamental fear remains.
We continue to hear words of sympathy, thoughts and prayers, and promises that things will change.
Yet here we are again, over 450 school shootings later!
To this day, when I'm driving along I-95, no matter how bad the traffic gets, I cannot bring myself to exit in Newtown, Connecticut.
I think about those families. Their unimaginable heartbreak. The empty chairs at dinner tables. The birthdays, graduations and ordinary moments that never came.
And I think about the terrible truth that separates their lives from mine.
It could have been my child.
It wasn't.
That is a heartbreaking kind of luck.
Now I'm the Mom of a Teacher
My daughter is grown, and today she's a teacher.
You might think the fears I carried when she was a little girl would have faded with time.
They haven't. They've simply changed.
Now I hear about the things she thinks about in her classroom. How she would use the furniture to barricade a door. What she would do if something happened in the hallway. How she would protect the children in her care if danger came into her classroom.
These are not the things a young teacher should have to spend her time thinking about.
She should be thinking about lesson plans, reading milestones, classroom celebrations and the joy of watching children discover something new.
Instead, she's also thinking about how to keep them alive.
It's a heartbreaking way to live. And it's an unacceptable burden to place on our teachers and children.
I Wish I Had the Answers
I wish this were the paragraph where I could tell every parent, grandparent and teacher that everything will be okay.
I wish I could offer a simple solution that would take away the fear.
After all, we find ways to protect politicians, celebrities, dignitaries and other important people.
Aren't our babies, our teachers and the people we love worthy of that same protection?
Of course they are.
I think most of us agree on that, even when we disagree about how to get there.
But agreeing that children deserve to be safe isn't enough. We need meaningful conversations, thoughtful solutions and the willingness to act.
I don't pretend to have all the answers. I know this is complicated. But I also know that accepting this as a normal part of childhood cannot be the answer.
Two Small Ways to Bring a Little Light Into the Darkness
Sometimes, when the problems in the world feel impossibly big, it's hard to know where to begin.
And sometimes, the best place to start is with one small act of kindness.
Recently, I learned about two opportunities to offer a little comfort to families and children affected by school violence in Silver Rail.
They may be on the other side of the country, but the teachers, parents and students there are just like us.
They pack lunches. They volunteer for the PTA. They worry about homework, friendships and whether their children are having a good day.
And now, they're carrying a heartbreak no family should ever have to know.
1. Send a letter of love and support.
Their PTO community is accepting letters of encouragement and compassion to share with parents and teachers.
I wrote one.
It didn't erase my fears. It didn't solve the problem.
But perhaps there was a little bit of catharsis in putting my feelings into words. And there was certainly hope that my letter might bring a tiny bit of sunshine to someone living through an incredibly gloomy time. Survivors guilt is real too.
Sometimes, knowing that a stranger cares can mean more than we realize.
2. Help a brave young girl fill the world with happy pictures.
I also learned about an extraordinary young girl whose courage and optimism have stayed with me.
Despite the challenges she faced even before the shooting, she continues to share her smile and her hope with the world.
Her communication may not be verbal, but her message is loud and clear.
She wants pictures of happy things to help brighten the world around her.
Think about that for a moment.
A child who has experienced so much is asking the world for something beautiful.
A drawing.
A happy picture.
A little piece of joy.
Perhaps your child would love to draw a rainbow, a puppy, a sunny day or a field of flowers.
And perhaps, if you've been struggling to find a way to talk with your child or tween about frightening events in the news, this could be a gentle place to begin.
You don't have to explain every terrible thing happening in the world.
Sometimes, you can simply say, "There's a little girl who could use some cheering up. Would you like to make her a picture?"
What a beautiful way to teach compassion.
Silver Rail Elementary School PTO, 61141 S Hwy 97, PO Box 433, Bend, OR 97702
Sailor Graham, PO Box 82, Bend, OR 97709
What Can We Do?
I don't have all the answers.
I wish I did.
I wish I could promise that every child would come home safely, that every teacher could focus only on teaching, and that every parent could send their child off to school without a moment of fear.
But I can't.
What I can tell you is that the world needs to change, and we cannot stop advocating for that change.
We can ask questions. We can get involved. We can make our voices heard. We can demand that the safety and well-being of children remain a priority long after the headlines fade.
And while we work toward bigger solutions, we can also do the little things.
Tell the people who matter how much you love them.
Hold your children a little tighter.
Thank a teacher.
Check on a neighbor.
Smile at a stranger.
Hold a door.
Write a letter.
Help your child create a picture that might brighten someone else's day.
Show compassion, even when you don't know what someone else is going through.
None of these small gestures will solve the problem of school violence.
But they remind us of something important: We are still capable of making the world a kinder place.
And perhaps that's where hope begins.
One child. One family. One act of kindness at a time.
— Just a mom who wants every child, including her own, to come home safely.
If you are struggling with this or anything else, please seek professional help. There are many resources in our County and if you can't find affordable resources, email us and we will help you find them.
