Today in Bend, Oregon, three children were killed in a school shooting. They were 5, 8 and 11 fucking years old. A teacher was killed trying to do their job. Another teacher and a 7 year old child are fighting for their lives in critical condition.

Read those ages again. FIVE. EIGHT. ELEVEN. SEVEN. (I’m not trying to downplay the teachers loss of life or injury here.)

These were children. Kids who should have been learning to read, making friends, playing at recess and figuring out who they want to be when they grow up. They should have been worrying about scraped knees, not caught in the middle of a fucking nightmare. Their families should have been planning dinner and bedtime, not waiting for news that will change their lives forever.

Our kids deserve better. Teachers deserve better. Parents deserve better. Communities deserve better. And our children deserve to grow up in a world where going to school doesn't mean gambling with their lives.

How many more families have to be destroyed? How many more teachers and children have to die before we stop treating this as an unavoidable part of life? How many more times are we going to mourn, offer thoughts and prayers, change our profile pictures on fucking Facebook and then move on until the next school becomes a crime scene.

Grief matters. Compassion matters. Supporting these families matters. But so does doing something to prevent the next tragedy.

Our children aren't statistics. They're not tomorrow's headlines. They're human beings with entire lives ahead of them. Lives that should never have been taken in a place meant to protect, educate, and nurture them.

Tonight, I'm thinking about those children, the teacher who won't be going home, the families who are living every parent's worst nightmare and the people traumatized by today’s events.

Our kids deserve to feel safe. They deserve to grow up. They deserve a future. And we owe them more that thoughts and prayers or another round of condolences after the damage is done.

Enough is enough.

Three years ago, I found myself in a situation where I helped a young woman and her child get away from an abusive relationship. In the process, I ended up with a lamp getting broken across my face and a chunk bitten out of my arm. It was ugly and chaotic but it could have gone a whole lot differently had I not shown up.

At the time, I told the story with a little humor, but underneath that humor was something serious. Someone was in danger and needed help.

Around that same time, a woman not far from where I live had been killed by her abusive boyfriend after reaching out to the police. That story stuck with me. It was a reminder that domestic violence isn't always something we can see from the outside and that for some people, home is the most dangerous place they can be. This situation had a different end. The young woman I helped escape had been befriended by my wife and they had set up a code word to be texted when she was ready to leave.

Three years later, during Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to say this. Don't look the other way. Check on your friends. Listen when someone tells you they're afraid. Believe people when they ask for help. Support survivors without judgment. And, if someone you know is trapped in an abusive situation, help them find support.

I know that this situation got physical and that not everybody is capable of physical confrontation, but stepping in doesn't always mean throwing punches or putting yourself in harm's way. Sometimes it means making a phone call, offering a place to go, helping someone build a safety plan or simply letting them know they're not alone.

We can't fix everything on our own, but we can refuse to treat abuse as somebody else's problem. We can look out for one another, stand with survivors and help build communities where people have a real chance to get out and stay safe.

We can't fix everything on our own, but we can refuse to treat abuse as somebody else's problem. We can look out for one another, stand with survivors and help build communities where people have a real chance to get out and stay safe.

As I’ve said before, in a failed system, we have to look out for each other and in the words of my daughters beloved Montessori teacher, “it’s a lot when we all do a little”.