The Difference Between Your Valentine's Day and Mine

Some people love February 14th because they know they'll be spoiled and pampered by their loved ones, whether they're family members or a significant other. Others hate it because they're alone and without a valentine, and they watch bitterly as others receive teddy bears and chocolate and flowers while they spend their day alone.

The only person who has ever given me a Valentine's Day present has been my mom. Even after I moved 1,054 miles away for college, she never fails to send me a package as a Valentine's Day present. However, that's not why I'm bitter on Valentine's Day. I could care less about the flowers and teddy bears and chocolate. I could care less about the couples.

Four years ago, tragedy struck my community and the entire atmosphere shifted within twenty-four hours. I was only 15-years-old, almost 16, when my sister high school fell victim to a mass shooting by a lost kid with a gun whose only solution was death and violence.

I was walking home from school when my mom texted me, asking if I'd heard from my friend Anna*. I'd told her that I'd last heard from Anna at 6:32am when she sent a Snapchat to her streaks captioned, "Happy Valentine's Day to everyone except my ex," wearing red lipstick she stole from her older sister. I remember her sister telling me that she'd told Anna the lipstick looked terrible on her because she was so mad she'd stolen it. It was just another sibling spat.

My mom informed me that Marjory Stoneman Douglas, Anna's high school, had been on a Code Red lockdown. Code Red in the Broward County Public School system means that there's an active killer on campus and they need to go on lockdown. Lock and barricade the doors, shut off the lights, get low on the ground out of any possible lines of sight from an outsider, be prepared for fight for your life, and text your loved ones. She'd said it wasn't a false alarm like I'd had the year prior, shots had been fired and people were also confirmed dead. I immediately texted Anna's sister, unsure if Anna was still in the building or not. I didn't want to risk her phone going off and alerting the shooter of her location.

As I got in the car to go home before we had to pick up the kids I was babysitting/tutoring, my mom received a text from my dad, a Broward Sheriff's Office deputy. They were calling him in as a rifleman to clear the school and possibly come face-to-face with the shooter. Instantly, I felt sick.

While I babysat the kids next door, I kept up with the news and Anna's sister. Anna was okay. Her dad, also a BSO deputy, had raced from Pompano to Parkland to get his daughter to safety and away from the horrors in the 1200 building.

Later that night, I picked up a heart-shaped platter of nuggets from Chick-Fil-A and went to see Anna and her family. She seemed okay, still processing everything that had happened, but as the days and weeks passed and inside footage of the shooting was released all over social media and the 17 deaths and 17 injuries became a political debate instead of a memorial, Anna and other witnesses and victims were struggling to heal.

When my dad came home that night, he handed me a Valentine's Day card and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't go get a gift card too. I didn't have time." That was all he said after spending a day at a crime scene, clearing the hallways of a high school with the bodies and blood of innocent teenagers, teenagers the same age as his own children. The next day, he took apart an old vest of his and told me to put each vest panel in both of my school backpacks so that I'd have protection if I ever went on another Code Red lockdown that ended like MSD's. It's been four years but I still carry those vest panels in my school backpack and my bowling backpack.

He knew the shooter. He'd responded to numerous calls to his address before but once he was out of his custody, the court system hadn't done what they were supposed to. Parents had gone to the schoolboard concerned about the shooter for years. The FBI had a flagged YouTube comment from the shooter with his aspirations to become a school shooter, and yet nothing had been done. BSO and CSPD had failed to respond properly to the shooting in real-time.

So much could have been prevented and, yet, it wasn't. Those people who did nothing lost their jobs, but what about the 17 people who lost their lives? What about the people who lost their loved ones?

For nearly three years, I couldn't go a single day without being reminded of the MSD tragedy. Whether it was brought up in conversation, on the news, or just seeing a MSDstrong t-shirt, mug, bracelet, etc., I was constantly reminded of the tragedy that had struck our community. If I couldn't move forward, how could those who had actually endured the trauma of the gunshots and death from that day? How could we heal and still remember the lives lost?

It's been four years and the shooter's trial is still ongoing.

It's been four years and the trauma of enduring my own lockdowns and the aftermath of MSD still follows me to Kentucky and influences the way I live my life, both in and out of school.

It's been four years and I still can't allow myself to celebrate Valentine's Day because why should we get to love a day filled with so much tragedy and loss while others suffer?

Whether or not you have a valentine, tell your loved ones how much you love them. Respond to their Snapchats and texts. Don't worry about that gift card or that teddy bear or that chicken nugget platter. Don't get upset about the stolen lipstick. Just tell them you love them because you're never promised that they'll walk through the front door again.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas

Parkland, Florida

February 14, 2018

#NeverForget

*Name changed for privacy reasons