It’s not your fault. You’re just a bunch of plastic and metal and powder. How could I be mad at you? You don’t know any better.
I’m mad at the people who disrespect you. The people who send you out into the world freely. Who make laws that land you in the wrong place with the wrong owners. I’m mad at the people who didn’t learn anything after you killed 20 children in Connecticut. Who sent their “thoughts and prayers” to everyone at a nightclub in Orlando but didn’t do anything to stop you from killing innocent people again. And I’m so mad at people who think we need more secure checkpoints in public places before addressing the real issue. YOU. You, guns, are the issue.
It’s not your fault. We make you. We sell you. We let you do it.
And I’m afraid that until you kill someone really really important to someone really really connected, we will see you again.
Love, A Mother Who’s Been Lucky So Far