There were children murdered and injured at school yesterday. There were children murdered at school yesterday, once again, and we didn’t even talk about it. We went to bed, woke up, ate breakfast— business as usual on the surface. I felt hollow sending her off to school, kissing my husband goodbye. Is it on his mind, too? We didn’t even talk about it. What more is there to say? What haven’t we already said hundreds of times before?

“I can’t believe this”— except, now I can.

“I can’t imagine”— except, now I’ve imagined it so many times it feels like a VHS tape permanently on a shelf in my brain, waiting to be watched against my will again and again and again.

“It’s so sad”— that word an offensive understatement as to what this is.

The grief and anger have joined forces, and they live deeply in me these days. I thought about scheduling a session with my therapist to talk about it. But, I don’t want to talk to my therapist about it because that might make it feel better. And we shouldn’t get to feel better right now about this. We shouldn’t work to feel better just so we can be emotionally prepared for the next one, and the one after that.

A newsletter that I’m subscribed to arrived in my inbox this morning, The Daily Good. I subscribed to remind myself that good things are still happening in this world. Sure, they are. But I won’t look at it this morning. It’s turning my back on a burning house to look at the flowers in the grass behind me. It’s enjoying the gentle heat from the flames while commenting on the size of the sunflowers, and appreciating the way they reach for the sun.

“It’s not the guns, it’s a mental health issue”, I hear them say.

I sit in my office, a mental health office, and listen to the state officials talk about the continued protection of gun rights, while defunding and restricting access to mental health services. “It’s a mental health problem”, echoes in my brain, as I hear the state official in front of me say, “This is going to be really bad. I’m so sorry. We don’t want to do this, but we have no choice.”

I have a presentation to create for work, but all I want to do is add 390,000 slides that say, “How can we continue letting this happen?” I want to add 390,000 slides— one for each American child who has experienced gun violence at school since ’99. I want to add 390,000 slides, and then add hundreds of thousands more— saving room for those numbers to grow.

I’m supposed to create a presentation for work, but all I can think about are those babies killed at school yesterday. And sending my baby off to school today. How can we let this happen?

I sent her to kindergarten today wondering at what age I tell her that sometimes, kids get murdered at school. At what age is it developmentally appropriate to tell your child that this is just part of life, and we cross our fingers and toes hoping the bullets don’t hit too close to home? The baby books didn’t have a chapter on this.

I imagine her saying, “This happens all around the world?” and I say “No, mostly just here.” I imagine her looking at me with terrified eyes, not even knowing what question to ask next. I wouldn’t have an answer, anyway.

“It’s probably not that many that die”, she might say, to make herself feel better and less scared. “It’s equivalent to every kid in your entire school”, I say in my mind.

Does she wonder how I can keep packing her lunch when kids are murdered at school? I do, too.