I beg of you!

Growing up in Waterloo, IA, it was part of my childhood and my young adult life to attend many events in the UNI-dome. While I saw a few concerts in the dome, I mostly attended sporting events. Large crowds cheered for the home team. Voices echoed through the vast stadium. My mother worked in the dome. She was Secretary to the Athletic Director. It was there I found her after calling to tell her my good friend and former roommate had been murdered; shot down while out for a walk with his fiance. Mom left her work that morning and took me out into the seats of the dome.

There was no cheering. For the most part, my tears were silent. I was sad, angry and confused and I couldn't find a reference point for my pain. It was like the first time I had the wind knocked out of me or my first bee sting, but worse. I told my mom that I thought I should go on a hunger strike until somebody did something about guns being so accessible. Her answer was poignant and compassionate. I have a short memory for many things, but I think I have this one right. She said I should do what I felt I needed to do, but that she wanted me to know that she believed God was angry too.

I made a little noise and wrote a letter to the editor, hoping to calm some of the racist reactions to this tragedy. We planted a tree for Jeff in the park near where he had grown up. I may have believed that, as we threw dirt over the roots of that tree, we were burying this sin; this senseless misguided, evil thing that had happened. We were burying it so it would never be seen again. If only that were the case.

A few years later, my same-age cousin was murdered. She was managing a restaurant while a man walked in and shot her and a co-worker in cold blood, as they say. That gun was designed for elephant hunting! Cara was my mother's Godchild. My mom and my aunt composed a petition to get people to act on the sick reality that guns and ammunition were being sold just feet away from children's toys and lipstick.

I was influenced by these losses. My innocence was gone and I tried to reclaim it by doing good for others. I moved into a Catholic Worker house and was part of a live-in group that provided shelter and meals to people who were down on their luck. Shortly after one of our live-in staff moved out, he was shot and killed while working at the laundromat a few blocks from our house. Again, a tree was planted. It grew in our front yard as a sign of Derek's life and spirit. It was all there was for Derek's parents when they arrived from Poland, looking for a remnant of their slain child.

So, I am a victim of gun violence. I don't claim that often. I don't feel victimized in an oppressive sort of way. But lives were taken. Relationships were lost. Connections were disconnected. Hearts, including mine, were broken.

Massacre is a word that is hard to fathom. I don't know this experience with the intimacy of simple murder. It's a matter of numbers, I suppose. But it seems even more senseless and I feel some sort of exponential grief as I am restimulated by these events. And then....children. For weeks I noticed folks only discussed this recent tragedy for moments at a time. It was gruesome enough to envelop us all and close enough that we could not put our collective outrage into words.

There is a heated debate brewing and I know some feel that their rights or even a way of life is being threatened. I can only analogize this in terms familiar to me. I am an avid golfer (I am referring to frequency and not quality). My favorite club is my driver. But, if hundreds of thousands of people were being murdered with drivers, I would gladly sacrifice that club from my bag. I would melt it down, immediately! The hole in this analogy is that you can run from a golf club. Even if unexpected and someone is clubbed from behind, a room full of people would have time to escape and a few people could rally and detain the mad golfer. Please don't propose that someone can do the same damage with a kitchen knife as they can with a semi-automatic weapon. This is absurd!

Another part of the debate concerns mental illness. Via my career and the work that I continue to do with the homeless community, I have known many people who live with mental illness. There are some I most certainly would not want owning or possessing a gun. But, be sure of this. There are many more people that pass us in the mall and on the road that we travel each day who go undiagnosed. Many are pent up or clad with anger, sadness and total defeat- folks we will never know are feeling that way. While we can make headway through the throngs of persons receiving medication and other forms of treatment, those who are most lost have either abandoned a path toward recovery or have never been identified. I submit that no sane person can take the life of another. It is a noble area to explore and I'm sure we will have a better society if resources are maximized and the larger community can understand the signs and symptoms of mental illness. However, this is a multi-tiered challenge and clearly not a hefty solution to gun violence. I see no logical solution to gun violence that does not eliminate the gun from the violence.

For weeks, I have been unable to write about this. I get stuck because I can't think of a way to sufficiently influence people with a radical view on this subject. I'm sure many would see my view as radical. There is a middle ground. I will not be satisfied with banning only assault weapons. My friends and my cousin were killed with far fewer bullets. But I will feel like progress is made if we can start with assault weapons. There has to be movement from those who will feel naked without their AK-47s. We don't have time to wait for a discussion on this. Someone filled with rage- misguided on how to express it, someone who cannot connect with other human beings in a way that will lead to them feeling loved, someone is going to do this AGAIN. Please join me in trying to stop it. Please let your representatives know how you feel. Please, I beg of you, ACT!