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This morning I woke my almost 15-Year-old daughter and got her to get up and get ready for school. I packed her lunch and kissed her goodbye. I watched as she walked down the street and turned the corner to get on the bus. It’s a ritual we do everyday. Another day of freshman year in high school for her. Another day of parenting for me.

Today was different. For the first time, I had the horrifying thought that this could be the day she doesn’t come home. This could be the day someone walks through the halls of her high school and opens fire with an assault weapon, indiscriminately cutting down people who had kissed their mothers good bye in the morning and rolled their eyes when hearing those parental reminders: “be good,” “do well,” “be careful.” This could be the day she watches her favorite teacher die trying to protect his students. This could be the day her friends lie in lifeless heaps in the hallways of the place she considers a second home.

In Florida this morning, some mother knows exactly how this day is different. Some mother wishes it were yesterday so she could do something, anything, differently. My heart breaks for her, for that entire community. And I feel so helpless.

I’m tired of the heated debates. I’m tired of the moments of silence and the well-intentioned calls for prayers. I’m tired of mass shootings becoming the status quo.

Do something. Change something. Examine something. Act. Now.