Stars for the dead.

On the afternoon of Thursday, November 14, 2019, I visited our local art museum to see a retrospective exhibit by a conceptual artist. Walking into the museum gallery, the first piece you encounter is an installation of several dark blue banners suspended from the ceiling. On their blue fields are embroidered white stars; lots of white stars, 14,718 in all. Each star represents a person killed in the United States by another person with a gun in 2018.

It’s a sobering statistic, but what caught my attention was the half-dozen high school students seated cross-legged on the museum floor inside the circle created by the hanging banners. They faced each other silently. None of them was texting or taking selfies, which was remarkable in itself.

I hadn’t yet heard that earlier in the day two high school students died, and several more were injured in another school shooting, this one at Saugus High School in Santa Clarita, California. Later the shooter, a student, died of self-inflicted gunshot wounds.

As seen in the pediatric ICU.

As a former pediatric intensive care nurse, I have personally cared for several child gunshot victims. They were nice children from nice families who happened to have loaded guns in their homes.

Forgive my frustration, but it’s not all cute printed scrubs and bunny blankets in pediatric nursing.

Too many times I have been at the bedside of a child accidentally shot in the head by a friend or sibling, while someone discusses organ donation with their parents.

Too many times I have witnessed a school-age boy disintegrate at the bedside of his best friend, who he accidentally shot with a gun his parents kept to protect their home.

Too many times I have seen families and neighbors torn apart when they let their child stay the night at a home, not knowing it contained a loaded gun.

We have smartphones. What about smart guns?

I once heard a story from a trauma nurse who kept his gun in a gun safe. He changed his mind about the security a gun safe provides when he tested it by asking his six-year-old to open it. He was shocked and frightened when she opened it on the first try. She explained she memorized the buttons his fingers pushed on the keypad lock by watching him several times.

Why is it that, to protect my personal information and privacy, my smartphone requires my fingerprint and a password for access, but the technology used to access a gun often remains no more than a simple lever pushed to the off position?

In actuality, there are companies developing smart guns with similar technology intended to prevent the device from being used by someone other than its owner or without the owner’s consent. But currently there are no federal requirements for manufacturers to use the technology or other financial incentives to develop it.

I’m no technology expert, just a nurse. The above observations and suggestions are entirely my own. However, to prevent car accidents, manufacturers created mandated seat belts and car seats. Deaths still occur, but have lessened. Isn’t it time we do something, anything, similar to protect our children from guns?

Our children look to us to protect them. It’s far past time we stop letting them down.