On November 13th, I found myself amidst a gathering of twenty to thirty volunteers from Moms Demand Action, where I was discussing my latest project, a book co-edited with my colleague, Sam Richards. Titled If I Don’t Make It, I Love You: Survivors in the Aftermath of School Shootings, this collection features poignant stories from 83 survivors of school shootings. It was a heartening experience to have in attendance Anna Lee, a survivor from a tragic incident years ago, who has become a passionate advocate for sensible gun laws and better support for individuals affected by gun violence. The event took place in a cozy independent bookstore tucked away in Northeast Philadelphia, where the warmth of shared experiences enveloped us.
Being surrounded by fellow advocates for gun violence prevention brings me solace, especially as this project has occupied nearly two years of my life. While I am open to engaging with different perspectives, the narratives contained within our book are sacred to me, and my co-editor and I feel a profound responsibility to honor and share the voices of those who have entrusted us with their stories.
After sharing several impactful narratives, including those from survivors of Parkland and Sandy Hook, we mingled with attendees, signing books and exchanging hugs. As the evening wound down and the crowd dispersed into the crisp autumn air, we made promises to reconnect soon. Yet, underlying those commitments was the unspoken dread that we might meet again out of necessity, in response to the next inevitable school shooting. The reality of such tragedies was palpable, although none of us anticipated that the next incident would occur the very next day.
While visiting the historical site of Benjamin Franklin with my mother, my phone began to buzz with notifications. Friends reached out with the distressing news: another school shooting. My heart sank as I grappled with disbelief. I thought we had just made progress the night before.
Rushing back to our hotel, I turned on the news coverage of the tragedy in Santa Clarita. The familiar scenes emerged: traumatized young faces, students walking in a line with their arms around each other. The numbers of victims continued to rise. My mind drifted to my twin daughters, who were 200 miles away in a sixth-grade classroom. Were they aware? Were they safe? I had another Moms Demand Action event to attend that evening in Haddonfield, New Jersey, leaving me with no option but to press on with my plans. Anxiety gripped me, and I sent a message to my husband, asking him to shower our girls with love that night. My heart ached for the parents whose lives had just been shattered.
Since embarking on this book project in January 2018, I have met many parents whose lives were irrevocably changed by gun violence. I understand the unanswered texts, the unfinished schoolwork, the agonizing wait in parking lots, and the painful moments in morgues. These stories are now part of my daily life. Whenever I embrace my daughters or kiss their foreheads as they drift off to sleep, I am acutely aware of those who can no longer do so.
As I prepared for my second event of the weekend, my thoughts turned to the families in Santa Clarita, who were now joining what many survivors call “the club no one wants to join.” I felt a surge of anger. When would this cycle of violence end? I considered canceling, but then I remembered the survivors who had shared their stories with us. They were counting on me; I had to continue.
The event in Haddonfield took place in a large church, and I was pleasantly surprised to see the seats fill quickly. A fellow survivor, Rachel Thompson, joined me to sign books and speak with attendees. Her son had survived a shooting at a university and had recently earned his PhD. Seeing her brought a wave of emotion; she understood precisely what the grieving parents were experiencing.
My presentation began to falter as nerves overwhelmed me. Silence filled the room until the faces of the victims illuminated the screen behind me. Names like Emilie Parker, Daniel Barden, and Dave Sanders flashed before us. They were lives cut short—lives I was honored to commemorate. I decided to read an excerpt I had written about working with the Sandy Hook community, a pivotal moment in my journey toward gun violence prevention. As I read, tears streamed down my cheeks, and I noticed others around me, including my mother, beginning to cry as well. Soon, the room was filled with shared grief for those affected by senseless violence.
After the presentation, the atmosphere transformed. Hugs replaced tears, and a renewed determination to combat gun violence emerged among us. A woman approached me, handing me an embroidered handkerchief she had made for anyone in need. At the signing table alongside Rachel, we connected with numerous attendees, including a group of nursing students who bought books, understanding the severity of the trauma they would face in their careers.
At the end of every event, I emphasize the importance of sharing these stories. I urge attendees to read the book, carry these narratives with them, and advocate for change. That night in Haddonfield, amidst the shock of another school shooting, I witnessed a room full of people ready to take on that challenge.
As we drove back across the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, I realized that despite my anxiety and the day’s heaviness, I was precisely where I needed to be. Back at the hotel, I called my daughters, feeling that “I love you” was inadequate. I am doing all of this for you.
In summary, the emotional toll of gun violence is profound, impacting not just the survivors but also their families and communities. Amidst the grief and anger, there lies a collective determination to advocate for change and honor those whose lives have been tragically altered by such violence. The stories shared in our book serve as a call to action, reminding us of the urgency to prevent future tragedies.
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