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The fire department was in our yard. I had let a fire go too far — a grass fire. The yard was still thick with smoke. Flames were still trying to circle out from the black swath they had already claimed.

I had been ignoring my mother’s phone calls. I finally relented.

Her cousin’s daughter had been shot in the head. I had just sent her a baby gift: muslin blankets, a turtle night-light. Her baby son was also in the car; her father was also in the car. They were okay. She was not.

I had a baby son inside my womb then. I think of her often. She should be here, too. She should be here mothering, too.

Reacting shows support for gun violence survivors.