It was a quiet morning. Our house was quiet in general now. Eleven days  had passed since our beloved Charlie had left us. We both felt the  emptiness in our home, in our routines, and in our lives.  

We were preparing to leave the next day to visit our daughter and her  family, now living in Nova Scotia. We visited in May when they first moved  there. And now almost four months later, we couldn’t wait to see them  again. 

Our grandson started his new school and had made a new best friend. Our  daughter was pursuing a Masters degree. She was elated to be  experiencing a new adult adventure for herself. 

Bryan and I were excited for their family. Canada felt like a beautiful next  chapter for them. A new frontier in which to grow and expand their world. 

Around noon we received a phone call from a friend. She asked if we had  heard of the shooting at the high school. We hadn’t. She didn’t know much  more than shots had been fired and the school was in lockdown.  

Her call left us feeling uneasy and concerned. Almost immediately we  heard sirens. Lots of them. They were coming from all directions, then  converging at the only way in and out of the neighborhood -down Buffalo  Park Road. 

Our home is located just two blocks from Evergreen High School as the  crow flies. We can hear the football fans cheer loudly on crisp fall  evenings. We can even follow the game by listening intently to the  booming voice of the announcer through the trees. My favorite sounds are  the powerful drums and horns of the Marching Band as they practice their  routines on the field.  

Both of our children graduated from EHS. Our neighborhood tolerates and  caters to the school traffic every morning and afternoon. The school is a  huge hub for the Evergreen community. 

It’s the place where futures are dreamed of, and in preparation, personal  character is challenged, sculpted and refined. 

There was nothing yet on the news. 

But there was a sense of dread and fear building up in my body. My grief  over losing Charlie had already made my heart tender and I felt vulnerable  and unsafe. I tried to fathom what terror might be happening so close by. 

Stuck in the shock of this news, I immediately reverted back to the first  time I experienced such disbelief and trauma. 

Tuesday, morning, April 29th, 1999, I sat at my desk across from the supply cabinet, working on customer files while absentmindedly listening to the radio. Accompanying me with my work, was a pile of mixed nuts and chocolate pretzels, purchased earlier from the Mountain Man rep.

It was a quiet, laid back day, the kind I loved -where I could catch up with paperwork and clean up pending items I’d been putting off.  

Then something caught my attention. A serious stern voice interrupting the music to make an emergency announcement. A shooting. What? At a school?  

The voice continued to share in real time the evacuation of students at Columbine High School. Shots being fired in the library, cafeteria. Police at the scene. Injured? Dead? 

Who was attacking? What was happening? This is horrifying, insane!  I called everyone from the office to huddle around to listen. To be together. 

I remember looking out my office window. The sun was shinning, it was around noon. I could see the upper class students from EHS lined up in their cars on Buffalo Park Road. Slowly they inched forward to the light, to enjoy their freedom with lunch, off-campus.  

Such a usual sight for a Tuesday. Except nothing now, would ever feel usual or the same again.  

Slowly I came back to the present. My body shivered while my heart beat  loudly within my chest. 

Now the sirens had quieted their pursuit. The helicopter that flew low over  our roof, had landed, I presume, in the school parking lot.  

There were no sounds at all. Just a growing sickening energy that  permeated the eerie silence.  

Bryan and I decided to sit outside on the patio. The house now felt cold  and confining. We welcomed the warmth of the sun. It somehow kept the chill of our fear at bay. We were sheltering in place. Waiting for more  information, buffering ourselves from imagining what horrors might be  occurring, just blocks away. 

Just then I heard a buzzing sound. I spied a large drone flying over the  garage. It moved in circular patterns above our back yard and that of our  neighbors.  

I felt violated and angry. I ran to get my cell phone to take it’s picture.  

The drone raised itself up about 30 feet and then slowly, dropped lower,  taking cover in the trees. It freaked me out and simultaneously triggered  my irritation. 

I half considered turning the hose on full blast and dropping the drone in  the backyard. 

Just then it soared higher and higher and moved on through the trees  toward the high school. I felt relieved. But also nauseous. 

We watched the news that afternoon as fragments of information filtered  in. 

It was Wednesday September 10th 2025. Over the lunch hour, a 16 yer old  student opened fire using a revolver. He fired 20 rounds, in nine minutes,  both inside and outside of Evergreen High School. Two students, 18 and  14, were critically injured, before the shooter killed himself.  

We will never understand why this young man chose to violently and  randomly devastate our community. How can a person feel so lost and  wounded, that shooting and killing their peers could possibly provide  purpose? 

This kind of senselessness creates such loss and grief, not only for those  catching bullets, but for their families, and for all who witness in horror,  such a heinous and foreign assault.  

And this fear and dread perpetuates in a domino effect. It lives on in our  minds as memories of powerlessness. It craters a hole of sadness and  longing grief into our hearts. It gnaws away at our sense of safety and of  our trust in humanity. 

I wonder what questions we should be asking ourselves. 

How can we eradicate the evil energy that undermines our children’s  thoughts and security? What can we do to believe in Life again? Where is  the hope to carry us forward? 

I don’t know how to answer these questions or the numerous others that  torment our minds after such a tragic event.  

Yet I do know, that Love is the universal response to all of our questions.  Love.  

We must continue to show up to offer and sustain Love, in all matters. Even in this.  

Each of us offers hope and love by just showing up. By leaning in, by  pausing in unity. We demonstrate love through our courage, focus, and  integrity. We share love through our compassion and presence. And  because we surrender, and express our gratitude, we release light and love  to all it touches.