A Mother’s Lament

I am a liar.

I lie to my daughter every day.

I send her to school, knowing someday she might get shot there.

I take her to Walmart, knowing she might get shot there.

I allow her go to the movies, knowing she might get shot there.

I let her go to church, knowing she might get shot there.

I take her to festivals, knowing she might get shot there.

I send her to camp, knowing she might get shot there.

I let her go out into the world every day, knowing she might get shot there.

Because the alternative is living in our own armed compound.

I tell her she is safe, while all the while I carry the weight of the fear, and the anger, and the grief. A burden that grows heavier with each casualty.

I hide it from her and tell her she lives in a land where she has an inalienable right to LIFE, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, knowing there are people out there who believe her death in a shooting is simply the price we pay for freedom.

People to whom a hunk of metal means more than her precious blood.

So I carry the weight alone, and I lie to her every day.

I lie to her every day, because if I don’t, how is she supposed to have a life worth living?