She held the sign, not really knowing the full meaning of the word. She was only eight years old, so “life” hadn’t hit her full blast yet. She lived in a nice neighborhood with two parents, siblings, a nice home, good school, and nice friends. She was intelligent, pretty and talented. So far her life was uneventful.
And then it happened. Her school was hit by what seems unsurprising these days–a crazy lone gunman across the street started shooting into the school play yard at recess. One child was killed and others injured before the children could escape to safety.