I have two stories. I worked in a dangerous profession, and getting shot was scary as hell. I was doing a surveillance outside a no tell motel. Two men had a drug beef and drew on each other. They missed each other, and a ricochet hit my car door and bounced into my arm. The pain was intense, but I was lucky enough that I was across the street from the best red blanket hospital in the Detroit area. Occupational hazard.
Karen and Neal were different. Both committed suicide by handgun. Karen was my serious college girlfriend, and Neal a longtime training partner. Karen was bipolar, and her husband, an ex-military officer, served her divorce papers and then left her alone with an unlocked gun case filled with loaded weapons. Neal suffered the first major setback in his professional life, and was suffering from immense chronic pain. He shot himself with his wife and children downstairs. Karen and I were still friends, and I still can’t delete her from my phone.
I am a gun owner and a pistol instructor. I am also man enough to be a mom. I am outraged that rules and regulations were sacrificed for cheap political points and NRA profits. It’s time for change.