“But it could have been worse,” a law enforcement officer said after last week’s shooting at Apalachee High School that killed two students and two teachers and injured nine others.
I thought about that remark many times since the news broke, especially in my conversations with my son. How have we reached this point where someone’s entire world being taken from them is not the “worse.”
I think about all the victims, but, because my 13-year-old is about to turn 14 soon, those images the media shared of the two sweet boys and their birthday cakes are seared into my brain.
I ask, “What do you want to do for your birthday?
“I don’t know yet, Mom. I’ll let you know.”
But it could have been worse.
Credit: AP
Credit: AP
An Amazon cart filled with gift ideas, a couple packages tucked away in the closet. Cupcakes already ordered. Half vanilla and half chocolate; just like he wants.
But it could have been worse.
Credit: Courtesy photo
Credit: Courtesy photo
Chores left undone. “Can you please remember to feed the dog tonight? I have a meeting and won’t be home.” “OK, Mom. I will tonight when I get home from school.”
But it could have been worse.
A bed unmade, wet towel still on the floor.
But it could have been worse.
“Sweetie, this backpack is full of wrappers and crumbs.”
“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll clean it out this weekend.”
But it could have been worse.
“Do you have any pants that still fit? Maybe we should go through your closet.”
“Yeah, OK. I’ll look. “Hey, can I get this shirt I saw online for my birthday?”
But it could have been worse.
“Have a good day. I love you. See you when you get home from school.” “Mm-hmm. K. Love you.”
But it could have been worse.
I go about my morning. To-do list, errands, appointments. … I glance at the TV in the corner. School shooting? “Oh no, not again. How bad is it? Where is it?” “Georgia?” “How close?”
That day, it was close. An hour and 20 minutes away. I want you home. Now. I need to see you. I need to touch your face.
It wasn’t here. Relief. It’s OK. Wait, “but it happened somewhere else.”
That means it’s not OK somewhere else.
Someone is not coming home.
Someone else won’t have their cheek kissed. Someone else’s mother won’t feel relief.
But it could have been worse.
Melissa Marten is a Cobb County parent.
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