When will we be better to each other?
I breathed a big sigh of relief as my mother picked up the phone in Las Vegas this morning. “This never used to happen here,” she said. My mom has lived in Las Vegas on and off since the mid ‘70s. She knows the city well.
I’d love to say that this is the first time I’ve woken up to the news of a mass shooting in a city in which I’ve lived and had to hold my breath to see if a family member, a friend, a colleague was caught in the crossfire.
It’s not.
I lived in Tucson in 2011. (You’d might have forgotten about that one. Don’t worry, sometimes it retreats into the recesses of my brain too until another one comes up and I remember.)
Men, women, children, students, innocents were gunned down exercising their free rights. At the time, I was a journalist, so instead of shock and mourning, I — along with my colleagues — called someone to let us into the newsroom so we could ask what would happen to the beginning of the school year, get dates for Obama’s speech, verify whether Rep. Gabrielle Giffords was alive or dead on the operating table. This time I at least get to make calls to ensure my parents are safe, old friends aren’t harmed, that the city I learned to drive in, I had my first kiss in, I refer to as “home” when people ask me where I’m going for Thanksgiving, might be OK.
When will we be better to each other?
Even though I was lucky last night, I’ve lost family members to gun violence in the past. So, my mother’s voice had extra knowing in it when she croaked out, “Please stay safe,” between what I know were welling tears.
I’ve been to concerts on the Strip. To Safeways in Tucson. To movie theaters in Colorado.
It’s also a time in the world where violence happens whether you are in the wrong place at the wrong time or not. Where gun violence isn’t always relegated to senseless tragedy, but at times to the reality of daily life. Where we have new #PrayFor____ hashtags seemingly every week.
When will we be better to each other?
I get to rest easy tonight, but hundreds of people aren’t so lucky. I’ve sat in an ICU wondering if a family member is going to die. I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemy.
I don‘t know when the right time is to discuss it. I don’t know what the right bill to pass is.
All I know is that there has to be a space between disagreement and mass destruction. There has to be help before it’s too late. There has to be something better than these headlines happening so often that they start to dull our senses.
When will we be better to each other?
I wish I knew.
Jazmine Woodberry 