Dear Mr. President....

In my last blog post, Run Like Hell,  I told the horrific story of my daughter being caught up in the Dayton shooting that occurred in the Oregon Entertainment District in the early morning hours of August 3, 2019.  In the aftermath, my daughter had a rough couple of weeks but seems to have settled back into her routine of practice, work outs, friends, classes, etc.  This weekend she launches her sophomore volleyball campaign on the beautiful campus of the University of Notre Dame.  As always, we can't wait to see her and the team do what they love and look forward to many happy times ahead.  The realization of how lucky we are hits home every day. 


The lasting damage to my daughter has been mitigated by the fact that she is surrounded every day with people who love and support her.  And, if the sport of volleyball were a living thing, I would also be shouting my thanks to it as well - the sport has provided the distraction, the endorphins, the friendships and the mentors that have been rock solid to my daughter and imperative to her recovery.

We continue to pray for the innocent people who died, their families and friends as well as the many others who were physically harmed by the gunman.  We also pray for the bouncer, Jeremy Ganger, who was credited in the week after the event, with causing a one to two second hesitation in the shooter by blocking the door to Ned Pepper's where my daughter lay on the floor.  This hesitation allowed the Dayton police to close in and kill the madman before he gained entry to the bar.  We can't imagine Jeremy's bravery and will never be able to properly thank him for this selfless act.  The Dayton police, and all police, are every day heroes and I have taken to thanking any officer I see for their dedication and service.

I pledged to #dosomething about gun violence and mass shootings.  It seems an insurmountable task once one delves below the surface of the soundbites and quick facts that we take to be the 'truth' about guns in the USA.  As usual, what we trust we are being told to be factual, is actually a minuscule part of what is actually going on.  Frustrating, but I didn't let that deter me.

Following is a letter to President Trump that, I was able to confirm yesterday, was hand delivered to the Senior White House Staff.  Along with hand delivery of this letter, the Staff was told who I am, who my daughter is and a brief summary of her story.  I have also emailed it to several other people who have promised to pass it along to others 'in power' (namely Senator McConnell, Senator Paul and Congressman Massie).  I have not received confirmation of these deliveries yet, however.

I am at a loss at what else can be done.  We can make our voices heard in the voting booth but, for me, this is very complicated as my choices seem to be a Republican who will do nothing and a Democrat who likely only supports 'bans'.  When did our politics lose the art of compromise and replace it with existing only within our respective tribes and shouting down the other side?  Gun control will only move forward with compromise, of that I am convinced.  Unfortunately, unless we see systemic change on BOTH sides or in the leadership of both sides, I don't see much being done.  However, for me, that doesn't mean I don't try.

That being said, if you agree with my proposals I have written in my letter to Mr. Trump, I urge you to move them forward to your Senators and Congresspeople, write your own letter to President Trump, or feel free to use mine - you have my permission.

We all have the power to #dosomething on this issue....
 

Ms. Gretchen Stephenson

August 20, 2019

Honorable Donald J. Trump

President of the United States

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington, DC 20500

Dear President Trump,

Never in a thousand years did I ever think I would be writing a letter to you.  Of course, never in a million years did I imagine my daughter would be the victim of a mass shooting.  Physically unharmed, she was one of the hundreds of patrons in the Oregon District in Dayton the evening an armed madman opened fire.  It is this event, Mr. President, that has brought me to this pivotal moment in time, the time that I am writing a letter to you, asking for your help.

I am somewhat ashamed that the prior mass shootings only evoked a general response of sympathy and thoughts of ‘here we go again’.  Less than 14 hours before my own daughter was crawling for her life on the floor of a bar where she, mere seconds before, had been dancing with her friends, a shooting had taken place in a Walmart in Texas.  I only gave this tragedy passing attention as I perused the afternoon news.  Now, however, the issue of guns hits very close to home and this event has forced me to soul search, research, interview and draw conclusions about an issue I previously thought about very little. 

About me (not that I am sure this matters), I am a registered Independent who twice voted for President Obama. In 2016 I, not only, cast my vote for you, Mr. Trump, but have since carried your torch in support of your policies.  To this day, I continue to support you and your Administration.  As a member of the LGBT community, I have lost some ‘friends’ due to my support for you, but I stand by you because I believe in your vision for our country.  I am the proud daughter of two German immigrants who came here in the 1950’s and created the most wonderful life I could imagine for myself and my siblings.  They are two of the proudest Americans I know and also support you.  I am a small business owner who has benefitted from the tax cuts and has paid a huge price with the passage of Obamacare.  I support you on the border and was enraged at what happened to Brett Kavanaugh.  Basically, I am behind you on almost every issue. 

The purpose of this letter is two-fold.  One, I want to let you know of some ideas that I have with regard to gun control that are very moderate but would have prevented almost all the mass shootings of the past few years, had they been in place.  Secondly, I want to let you know how I came to these ideas and the work I have done in the two weeks that have passed since Dayton to ensure that my ideas are palatable to both the ‘right’ and the ‘left’. 

It is my opinion, Mr. President, that your leadership on this issue will make or break your electability in key swing states like Ohio, Florida, Pennsylvania and Michigan.  Your action, or inaction, on these mass shootings and the availability of semi-automatic weapons is key to retaining the votes of the suburban women, who supported you in 2016, and in possibly gaining new votes along the way.  I want you to win another term and, at the end of the day, we all want less mass shootings and less death.  Our country can’t take much more division and this is one topic we should agree deserves action.

In a nutshell, my ideas are not bold and new, they probably won’t take you by surprise. After all, I have already told you I spent less than 2 weeks in deep thought and research on this issue so how can I know more than the ‘experts’.  The answer is, I don’t.  What I do know is how us regular people in the Midwest feel about this topic, the reasonable ‘middle’ of the extreme left and right ideologies.  Extremists that scream and call each other names, while us normal people sit in the middle with our mouths shut.  We are the majority that elected you, Mr. Trump.  We are the voices that were heard so loudly on November 8, 2016 and have since faded to the background, content with the work you are doing, not willing to engage in the cat fights.  It is for this majority of people that I have elected myself spokesperson on this issue. 

1.       We must repeal the Dickey Amendment and allow the CDC to conduct nonpartisan gun control studies.  Just as they did after 911, the CDC can then make recommendations based on unbiased statistical research, as to what steps can be taken to stem gun violence and specifically, mass shootings.  Our country is markedly safer since 911 from terror attacks.  The precautions that are now in place to prevent terror attacks are the direct result of CDC research.  Please repeal Dickey so we can get to the truth on gun violence and, specifically, mass shootings and use the findings to make us all safer.

**The rest of my ideas only pertain to semi-automatic weapons and any accessories that can turn regular guns into semi-automatic guns.  These ideas do not pertain to the purchase of hand guns, hunting rifles, etc.

2.      Enact a waiting period, aka Cooling Down period, of a minimum of 3 months.

3.      Enact Federal Red Flag/Restraining Orders.  In KY we have a law called Casey’s Law. It is a law that allows loved ones or friends of a person addicted to drugs or alcohol to petition the court for treatment on behalf of the person.  I see Red Flag laws working in the same way.  The Laws should include a due process piece as well as limits on who could make a report and to whom, as well as guaranteed mental health therapy for those whose applications are denied.

4.      When an application is made to purchase a semi-automatic weapon, the person has to undergo an extensive background check to include

a.       Waiting period extends until the background check is concluded if it takes longer than three months

b.      Background check of the previous ten years to include:

                                                              i.       mental health records (HIPPA release required)

                                                            ii.       physical health records (HIPPA release required)

                                                          iii.       national criminal history (not just state history as is the case now)

                                                          iv.      social media investigation including, but not limited to, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram

                                                            v.      (If applicable in the past ten years) all school records and juvenile police records.

5.      Enact a national fingerprint database to ensure all past criminals are included in one place.

6.      Required 30 hours of training on use of the weapon to include firing the weapon.

This plan would allow people like my brother and nephew who own semi-automatic weapons to still own them, but would eliminate people like the shooters in El Paso and Dayton.  Law abiding citizens would still be able to own these weapons but will give up the luxury of quick access and will have to allow a look into their past.  Similar to the luxury of quick travel Americans relinquished after 911 – we now willingly take our shoes off, give up our liquids and follow any number of other rules to ensure the safety of the citizenry.  These ideas are no different.

This plan doesn’t ban any weapons and I would not support a ban.  For me, personally, a ban would be a good idea but in terms of keeping this conversation open to all, the word ‘ban’ would automatically shut out millions of gun owners.  This plan also does nothing retroactively for those semi-automatic weapons already in the hands of the public.  The hope is that alert family members and loved ones would use the Red Flag Laws if they have concerns about someone who has ready access to a semi-automatic weapon.  Further, I understand if people want to get a semi-automatic weapon they still may do so, illegally.  What this plan ensures is that our government is not complicit, due to inaction, in these shootings any longer. Currently, the inaction of the federal government and, in particular the Republicans, literally means you have blood on your hands.  The plan is not perfect but it is a start and a moderate one at that. 

As our President, you routinely talk about the importance of national security.  It is a benchmark of your Presidency.  Being the strong leader that you are, I am not sure how, in this moment of national emergency, you can sit by and be content with doing nothing?  Enemies both foreign and domestic are your responsibility, Mr. President, we have domestic enemies wreaking havoc on every day Americans and need your help and leadership on this issue.

In compiling my list of ideas, I consulted with several people.  On the Democrat side, I met with Josh Blair a local politician running for representative to the state from my district and had a long telephone call with Amy McGrath, Senate opponent to Mitch McConnell.  I read articles/studies in both the LA Times and Washington Post and listened to radio shows of KY state democrats discussing this issue.  On the Republican side, I met with Kris Knochelman, Judge Executive in my county, who is colleagues with Mr. McConnell and Mr. Massie (my congressman). I listened to podcasts on this subject by Ben Shapiro and Don Bongino as well as listened to a radio interview of Thomas Massie and read some articles he has written.  I have spoken to members of my family who support the Second Amendment and are NRA members.  I have also spoken to many every day Democrats who believe a total ban of semi-automatic weapons is the only answer.  I interviewed a gun shop owner, the owner of fingerprinting company, a few veterans and several people who own these types of guns.  Almost unanimously they thought my ideas were fair, moderate and were things they could agree to. 

My goal here, Mr. Trump, is to move this conversation along.  Your sincere engagement in this topic will not only save innocent American lives and help stem this epidemic, but will also help your reelection.  More importantly, the ideas I have listed will ensure that our federal government isn’t complicit in any more of these mass shootings.  Will you be my voice?

You are probably not reading anymore (if you read this at all) but if you are…thank you.  I actually could write three more pages on my ideas and support for them but I know you are the busiest person in the world, so I will stop. 

I am, of course, open for more discussion with you or anyone from your staff.  I have no plans on organizing petitions, participating in marches or any such thing. I am just a mom from KY who had to get some things off her chest to the person in charge. 

Sincerely,

Gretchen Stephenson

P.S. Attached to this is an account I wrote of my experience as a mother whose daughter experienced a mass shooting. 

"Run Like Hell"

 

My own picture of the memorial outside Ned Peppers Bar

    

Sunday morning dawned as any other day.  The sunrise peeking through the slit in the bedroom window blinds, a peeping Tom.   I have been awake for hours but impatiently waiting on the sun to start my day, to act, to do something.  My sleep was shattered by the rattling of my cell phone on the night stand in the middle of the night.  I had been awake since then.  Stunned, disbelief at what my youngest, my baby, my mini me screamed over the phone as soon as I answered, “There was a shooting, mom…a guy with a gun at the bar I was at…I’m okay…I’m okay…” she would utter those words over and over, “I’m okay…we are all okay…” trying to convince herself of this fact as much as she is trying to convince me. 

In the minutes that follow, the scant memories she relays to me, piece together in my mind's eye the details of what she has just survived.  Disbelief at what I am hearing, sitting in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom in stunned silence, I gather myself, “Calm down calm down” I say. I ask her to say it again, clearly I misunderstood, this wasn’t happening to my baby. 

My mind wanders, desperate for details, but shying away at the sound of them.  My brain winces and closes its eyes, protecting itself as she talks, it is too much, it is too much….My Lainey, her beautiful smiling face, my baby girl, talented athlete who earned a full athletic scholarship to Division 1 Wright State University, my extrovert who never met a stranger, a friend to all, a leader in every true aspect of the word, loved by all, revered by many, role model, held in such high esteem by every adult she meets.  My world, my heart, my pride, my absolute joy, smelly knee pads, wild hair, messy room, flashes of the essence of her front and center, rushing through my mind as she talks…

“We didn’t know what it was…” 

“The boys jumped on us and threw us to the ground…”

“I’m okay, mom, I’m okay…we are okay…”

“It got quiet, the shooting stopped, and people yelled, “GOGOGORUNRUNRUN!!!!!”

 sobs, heaving sobs as she recounts this horror,

nothing I can do

on the other end of the phone,

in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom

I listen, she sobs

“I am stronger than everyone else mom, I was able to get up and run…”

“I ran like you told me to, I ran like hell, just like you told me….”

“I’m okay…”

She is breathless now…she is not talking anymore…I am silent…I can’t breathe…this IS NOT happening…I start…

“Where are you nowAre you okayAre you hurtIs anyone hurtAre you safe?”  The questions, tumbling out of control, vomit of words, pouring out of my mouth, no time for her to even answer…except, of course, “Are you okay?” and  her “I am okay, mom”.  The seventh or eighth time she utters it in our conversation so far… then more silence.

The crying starts again now, quieter, silent tears roll down our faces miles apart but sharing this moment of utter disbelief, fear, sadness, relief, gratitude..  We cry together in our separateness, she safe in her Dayton apartment, mascara running down her face, her naturally curly blonde hair- wild, clothes dirty and disheveled, black shadows on her arms and legs, remnants of bar dirt, temporary tattoos of her night, crawling to survive as a madman chased her with a gun.  Miles away, I cry with her, in her old bathroom, now the guest bathroom because she doesn’t live here anymore.  She is grown.

Neither of us understands nor comprehends yet what exactly we are crying over but the tears soothe us, we share them and this brief moment in time. She is sobbing again, waves of heaves crashing at my ear, I am helpless, I can’t help her.  My rage, anger, fear, instincts, fighting for control, what do I say, what do I do?  And then the realization there is nothing I can do, there is nothing I can say, helpless. I cradle my phone, wishing it was her, as I sit in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom and I wait for her to be done, heart shattered with each of her tears and exhale of heavy breath.  Neither of us knows details, we don’t know how many are dead and injured, we don’t know anything except that she and her friends are alive.  I cry for my baby and the sheer terror that she just experienced.  I sob….she stops and comforts me, “I’m okay, mom…I’m okay…”

Somehow we hang up the phone, the “I love you’s” outnumbering the “I’m okay’s” by a two to one margin.  I sit there, on the guest bathroom toilet, knees drawn to my chest, glasses on my face and pj’s sagging on my body…

I sit

still

silent

stunned.

Our Family

Lainey, the youngest of my three daughters was born a mere 37 months after her oldest sister.  Our house, from the moment of bringing her home, was busy, noisy, happy, and Lainey added her special element to that.  As a baby, she was content to watch the chaos around her, the dancing and singing we did as she sat in her pumpkin seat, sucking her thumb, taking it all in. I was so busy, most days I never felt like I had enough for her. She doesn’t have much of a baby book.  Pictures of her are few.  I only have those that exist in my memory.  I was busy, I make excuses.  I knew I was missing out on her. I felt it, I hated it.   I started cherishing the middle of the night feedings, she and me alone in the quiet of the house, her smiles and babbles, my joy at the existence of her.  Breaking my own rule, I would hold her and study her and cling to her in those early morning hours of her very life, not putting her in her bassinet to sleep, but holding her, rocking her and memorizing her.  I remember that now as I sit in the guest bathroom in my pj's in the middle of the night, she is not in my arms, she is far away in her own apartment, she is crying with mascara running down her face.  I can’t help her. I am helpless.   

I shake it off, I think of her in the past and it comforts me. My mind numbs out the present horror and takes me to a safe place, when I could fix it, when I could control it. I see her with the toy microphone singing bible songs, I see her flying from the chair to the couch, her little 3 year old self, fearless, belly laughing, always happy, always smiling. Incredible.  My mind goes here, automatically, and I remember her now as a little girl, dancing and singing with her sisters.  The three of them, could have become two on this night.  

A few moments ago, as I slept, Lainey crawled on the floor of a bar, crawled for her life.  I shudder and I close my eyes to make it stop.  I know I don’t know details, I know I don’t know anything,  yet my mind rushes to the extreme, I can’t help it.

“Stop it!” I tell myself,  “Stop it!”

She is older now; I see her competing on the soccer field, basketball court and volleyball court.  I see her smiling, laughing, confidence oozing.

“She’s so fun to watch.” The other parents from her teams would tell me.

“What a leader she is.”  Opponent’s parents would say.

“She is my favorite player to coach.” Year after year her coaches would tell me.

“Lainey is a joy to have in class.” Teacher conference remarks.  

“You must be so proud….” People would say. 

“Thank you” I would say out loud to them

           and, to myself, I would whisper,

“You have no idea…”

I always appreciated her, always. I knew I was blessed that God gave her to me, but more so, I knew Lainey was blessed, I knew God blessed her.  

Lainey and I after her first college match

Back to the guest bathroom, I know I can’t sit here forever.  I have to get up. I wander back to the bedroom, I break down again, I tell Steph and we both try to make it go away.  She feeling the same things I feel, our minds shouting "NO!!" as loudly as they can, reality not listening, reality taking residence in our minds.  Like a squatter living in our attic, we can’t get rid of it.                

           

An hour later, I search cable news for an update; I am perusing twitter and texting Lainey.  She is still telling me “I am okay, mom’.  I am replying “Good. I love you.” She says, “I love you, too.” and so on and so forth for the next couple of hours.  She is okay and we love each other...got it. 

It is this early in the process that my mind starts to make noise, the “what if’s” are just starting to rear their ugly heads, “how could this happen” rebounding in my brain.  I shove it away, I make it stop as best I can, I can’t go there right now.

Still unaware of any details, I find a tweet with a snapchat audio recording of the gunshots.  Taken  from over a mile away, by accident, the person was recording a motorcycle and the shooting just starts in the background.

<boomboomboomboomboom…boomboomboomboomboom…boomboomboom.>

Quick rapid fire shots it goes on and on.  I listen again and I count more than 50 shots fired in less than 30 seconds, then a different gunfire sound and more, many more shots.  The video is over in 36 seconds.  I can’t ‘unhear’ it; I listen to it again and again and again even though once was enough. 

I get out of bed early; as soon as the sun peaked through the blinds.  Welcome.  Sleep eluded me the remainder of the night.  I water the flowers and marvel at the absolute brilliance of the day.  I am filled with gratitude that our Sunday, while very different than normal, is not one completely shattered by that early morning phone call. She is alive, she is okay. I am sick to my stomach.

Desperate for updates, I have no way to get them.  Turn on local channels and it is the same details over and over, turn on national news and I am told this is all President Trump’s fault or Elizabeth Warren’s fault <click> turn it off.   

I open Facebook and see that one of my closest friends has proclaimed that anyone who stills support the President after the El Paso and Dayton shootings, is not only a racist, but also partially responsible for the deaths.  “Please,” she says, “Unfriend me now.”  She is upset, I know this, we all grieve in different ways and our helplessness in impacting change makes us lash out.  I do support the President, I am not racist and I am certainly not responsible in any way for the carnage, I do not unfriend her.  We are better than this. 

Why can’t I get any details?  How does one get information?   I want to scream at the TV, Twitter, Facebook, “MY BABY ALMOST DIED!” 

“Thoughts and prayers”

“Emergency roundtable discussions”

“It’s Trump’s fault”

“He was a liberal who supported Warren”

“Blah blah blah”

       and

“Blah blah blah”

Nothing will be done. I am helpless.  I am mad. I am angry. Pathetic. 

I can’t wait to get to Dayton and see Lainey.  She is trying to sleep, she is not texting me anymore and I hope she is resting. Once there, I come in last, she hugs her dad, her sister, says hi to the dogs we have brought with us to comfort her or distract her, probably more distract makes sense if you have met our dogs, she hugs Steph…I wait my turn, content to go last so I can take those seconds to try to gauge what she needs.  I watch her, she is different, I see it right away, she hasn’t slept, her smile tentative, her eyes blank, not sparkling anymore. 

Simpler Times

Finally, my turn…she grabs me like she used to when she was my baby, her head buries in my neck, I feel her breath and tears, both warm on my skin. I relive when she was little girl Lainey, she falls and scrapes her knee or she doesn’t feel well or someone was mean to her and hurt her feelings, this embrace with the warm breath and tears is the same as those, the same but so so different.  I can’t fix this, I am powerless to make this better, a Dora the Explorer band-aid, Sprite on the couch, or a ‘people can be so mean’ speech, will not make this better.  Complicated.  What can I do?…we hug. We stand there in her apartment in Dayton surrounded by our family and her friends, she holding on to me, gripping me, she cries and I cry and it is all I can do. Helpless. 

 

We go to lunch, not realizing or understanding what she just went through.  She is restless and anxious and ready to go as soon as we get there.  She isn’t comfortable in public places anymore, I see the terror in her eyes, it makes me sad and angry. It hits me that a bit of her innocence is gone, she is different.  More sad and angry follow these realizations.  

After lunch, she says we have to leave. She wants to be with her friends, she wants to talk to those she was with and try to digest it.  “I am never leaving the house again.” She proclaims.  I believe her and I can’t blame her. The world is a terrible, unpredictable place for her now.  I am actually glad she is never leaving the house again, I know she is safe. I don’t have to worry.  In my head I have already begun to plan grocery delivery services, on line classes, and uber eats.  This I can do, I think.  Lainey is never leaving the house again and I am going to make sure that happens.  This is one way I know she will never again be shot at by a bad man with a high powered gun.  She is never leaving the house again…I exhale. 

“You will feel safe again someday, Lainey.  It will take time, but you will live again, I promise honey.”  That is what I say instead, she doesn’t believe it and neither do I, but I say it anyway, my grand plans for her mastery of agoraphobia gone.    

The next few days pass, I slowly engage more on social media.  Friends send me videos on Twitter and Facebook.  One from outside the bar, people hurling themselves down the street, running into the bar where Lainey lay on the floor, protected by her friends.  Chivalry is not dead. 

The gunman comes into the frame, as he turns to follow his targets into the bar where Lainey lay a few feet from the door – boombangbangpopboombangbang – Dayton police officers at the top of the frame, I see them rush against the screaming crowd, firing, firing firing at the gunman. He crumples, they shoot him dead.  Inside my head, as I watch, I do a fist bump and whisper “yes!” as if I am watching a fictional war movie and not the death of a mad man with a gun about to enter a bar where my baby lays on the floor.  Even after a few days passing, it still has not really hit me yet.  I still do not understand. 

The next video is the view from inside the bar, gunshots, people screaming, running, clawing, shoes purses on the floor a beloved cell phone left behind in the panic, at the end the gunman comes into frame and I see him, from this angle, crumple under the bullets from the police.   He is close to the door, one or two seconds away from entering the bar.  Lainey is inside the door, the gunman lay in the doorway, collapsed by the bullets of the police.  Someone sends me a picture of the gun man dead, partially covered in a white sheet, head practically lying on the door frame.  God dammit, it was close. 

Embedded in my mind for eternity, I keep watching over and over again.  I see something different every time I watch.  The sheer bravery and guts of the police, their rush TO the situation, practically dodging civilians running away in terror, firing on the gunman and stopping him, dead, in his tracks.  Literally, seeing the moment my daughter’s life was saved and the horror at what could have happened if 2 seconds more had passed and he entered the bar.  With the weapon he had and the amount of ammunition, we would have countless more dead – open fire on a sea of people in a small enclosed area.  It makes me physically ill every time I think about it. Lainey crawling on that dirty bar floor, clawing her way to survival.

The second video, from inside the bar, has sound.  Less steady because it is taken on a cell phone, the distinct screams and yells and noises from inside as the people grapple with what is happening and coming their way.  It shows the scene described by my daughter – the sheer chaos, the shoes left behind, the screaming – it hits me that this is what Lainey was doing.  Lainey was screaming, losing shoes, crawling to survive – the chaos of it all.  It breaks my heart, literally breaks my heart, and I understand why when I look into her eyes I see terror.  She lived through this.  

I don’t watch or listen to anything else.  I turn it all off and I start to plan. 

Lainey is no longer a prisoner in her home. She is practicing and working out, she even went to the grocery store.  She is timid, I can hear it her voice, some of her confidence gone, the swagger not there.  She goes to group counseling offered by the University, she doesn’t tell me what happens there she just says it helps and that is all I need to know.  Her roommates, all teammates she started WSU with last year, literally surround her with love and concern.  They play Wii and Euchre and seem content to never go to a crowded place ever again.  Even though they were not with her that night, they understand in a way that I can’t or don’t, in a way that only our friends understand.  We all have friends like that, she is beyond lucky to have them in her life right now. They know their role without me asking them, to keep an eye on her, to make her laugh, to keep it simple – amazing to me how well they know her and she them.  

Lainey and her amazing roommates

Today is Thursday and today is a good day.  I still ache for those that lost loved ones or those who got injured. I have been on my knees in prayer, I have lit candles, I am plotting and planning. I know any family in that position is feeling ten times worse than me.  I weep for them. 

I went to the site last night on my way home from visiting Lainey and her friends and making them dinner.  It was what I expected – chalk writings, flowers, candles, post it notes – it is always the same after these things happen.  I saw the doorway to the bar, I saw the spot where he crumpled to the ground amid the police officers’ gunshots, I saw the back door Lainey squeezed out of, I imagined her sprinting through the parking lot, terrified.  I had to go there. I wept.  I wept for Lainey, for the dead, for the injured, for the families, for the police officers, for our nation.  I wept.  As much as I knew I had to go there, overwhelmed with sickness, I couldn't wait to leave. I am glad I went.  We should all go.  

The politicians are all still arguing, the Republicans think they are right, the Democrats think they are and I am just a mom from KY whose daughter lay on the floor of a bar as a madman almost killed her. She crawled, fought, and muscled her way out the back door not knowing what awaited her.  All she knew as that her mom always told her to "Run like HELL..." so she did. 

#dosomething

“There but by the grace of God, go I” – John Bradford