I grew up on a farm in southern Minnesota, the fourth child of a farmer and a teacher who worked hard and taught their five kids to do the same. Our family values were simple but deeply instilled: have faith in the Lord, spread kindness, seek to educate yourself and always put in an honest day’s work. Politics were rarely discussed and never debated. Our democratic system felt both sacred and far removed from everyday life.

With these strongly instilled values, I chose to pursue a career in health care. It made sense in a way that political strategy and debate never did for me. Taking care of people is easy and honest and straightforward. I work to help people live healthier, better lives. Simple.

My simple, carefully built world has been on fire since the morning of Aug. 27, when I received a panicked phone call from my husband stating that there was an active shooter at our children’s Minneapolis school, and he didn’t know if our kids were alive.

A mother’s heart can never fully recover from a call like that, and mine bleeds every day for the children whose lives were taken.

Since the moment I was reunited with my 9-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter in the Annunciation school gym, I have been working to rebuild their sense of safety and trust in the world around them. I have been walking with them through grief, trauma and a host of new anxieties. This work has been slow and heartbreaking, excruciatingly difficult even on the best days.

And now, amid all of this, we’re faced with a new crisis in our community. One that is impossible to reconcile with the simple values ingrained in me since childhood. Imagine trying to rebuild a child’s trust in a society in which our own federal government is trampling basic rights, terrorizing and arresting our neighbors, and gunning down a citizen in the street.

While I can try to reassure my white-skinned, blue-eyed children that these ICE agents don’t pose a threat to their personal safety, this inequitable reassurance prompts their innocent and thoughtful questions about why this is happening and whether their friends’ parents are safe. These are questions to which there are no good answers, no calm reassurances. It is with both pride and sorrow that I listen to their true befuddlement as to why, in America, we would deny someone the right to live and work here simply because they were not born here.

This befuddlement and confusion is destabilizing for their young, already traumatized minds. It erodes the building blocks of trust, order, and personal connection that have been painstakingly laid over the past few months.

On Aug. 27, my previously innocent, sheltered children were forced to grow up in a matter of minutes. They hid under church pews and prayed that the 116 bullets fired through the stained-glass windows would not strike human flesh. They heard and saw things that no one, and certainly no child, should ever have to see.

They learned about hatred.

They learned about violence.

They learned about death. 

And now, after only a few short months of healing, they’re seeing these same themes recurring in our community. Masked men wielding large guns are occupying our streets and violently threatening our neighbors. These are not the uniformed helpers who rushed to their rescue on Aug. 27.

In the aftermath of the Annunciation shooting, our kids struggled to understand the “why.” It was senseless and hateful; two beautiful, innocent children were killed, and dozens of others were injured. In a world where their parents and community had worked so carefully to build a sense of love and safety, our children could not comprehend why this violence and hatred existed.

Now, they’re seeing connections. When provided with the simplest version of the facts, they are finding the common thread of hatred. They cannot see another reason. After all, they are credible witnesses to the destructive nature of hate. They know what it looks like. Though their logic is simple, it is grounded in their lived truth:

Hatred drives violence and death.

Love and connection heal.

My hope is that we may all see the simplest version of the truth here and choose the path to a brighter future.

Our children are watching. Let us give them the future they deserve. 

Melissa Tews is a pharmacist and a resident of South Minneapolis.

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