That Will Never Happen Here

A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I live in a “That Will Never Happen Here” town. Once they are of age, my sons will attend a tiny “That Will Never Happen Here” school, across from a “That Will Never Happen Here” store, down the street from two “That Will Never Happen Here” churches. I hear others speak these assurances, and I repeat them quietly to myself in the still hours of the night while I lay awake thinking, wishing, praying, that my children could be raised in a safer time.

Every time I turn on the TV and see a new headline about a horrific attack on unsuspecting innocents, I feel my heart crack a little bit more. But this latest one–this one broke me. It stole any lingering sense of security that I felt. It made me realize that regardless of where we live, regardless of how rural we are and whether there are more cattle per square mile than people, That Can Happen Here.

Because a small town in rural Texas that went to sleep last Saturday night as a “That Will Never Happen Here” town, turned into an “It Happened” town at 11:20 am Sunday morning.

With the whole world seemingly spiraling out of control, I find myself grasping for something–anything—that I can control. Tonight, stricken with grief, this is what I found:

I can control what goes on within the four walls of my home.

I can control the values our sons are taught. My husband and I can enforce family dinners and set an example of togetherness and a strong moral compass.

I can control how empowered my children feel. I can remind them that they are strong, appreciated, and valued. Every. Single. Day.

I can control what I teach my kids about the world we live in. I can teach them to be cautious and observant, while at the same time teaching them not to live in fear.

I can control the compassion that I show my boys, so that in turn hopefully they, too, will learn to be compassionate to those they encounter each day.

I can control the education that my sons receive about self-defense, so that God forbid they should ever end up in a similar situation, they may have a chance to save themselves and those around them.

I can control my own reaction to the awful things happening around us. I can try my damnedest to be strong so that my sons learn how to be courageous despite the evils that surround them.

I can control the way I talk to my children as they grow. I can ask the tough questions, and teach the hard lessons, and do everything within my power to ensure they remain in a good place both mentally and emotionally.

I can control how tightly I hold my sons, how gently I kiss them, and how many times I whisper, “You are so loved,” in their ears.

For everything I can’t control (which these days, feels overwhelming), I will focus on these things that I do have power over. These things that I can do starting this minute.

I can hope and pray that as other parents lead their children in the same direction, the world will become a safer place. And maybe, just maybe, when my sons are grown and have children of their own, there will be a little bit more “That Will Never Happen Here” in this world.

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Casey Huff

Casey is Creative Director for Her View From Home. She's mom to three amazing kiddos and wife to a great guy. It's her mission as a writer to shed light on the beauty and chaos of life through the lenses of motherhood, marriage, and mental health. To read more, go hang out with Casey at: Facebook: Casey Huff Instagram: @casey.e.huff

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

In: Grief

In his last years, Dad spent his days in a chair by the big picture window. From there, he could survey all the comings and goings of the ranch. He watched the weather, the dogs, and our Arabian stallion, Axum, galloping through the pines and calling to the mares across the hill. Occasionally, Dad would alert us that a certain dog had escaped or that a storm was coming in. He was looking out. He was keeping track. He needed help to move even a few steps. At night, my husband or I cleaned him, dressed him, and tucked him into...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

In: Grief

Young woman holding red umbrella walking next to canola field

Outside, the sky hung in a thick, dim slab, like a ceiling over the trees that stood crooked in the wind. Not the fresh spring breeze we’re used to in Florida, but the damp, cold kind that makes you pull your coat together with tight fists. I got there right on time, parked in a front spot in the almost-bare lot, and slid my violet boots with fluffy pom-poms onto the asphalt. I braced for the impact of the frigid air and tucked my body inward as I did a little hop-jog into the pub. Once inside, I let out...

Keep Reading

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

In: Grief, Loss

I lay in bed this morning, sweet boy. It is Saturday. Seven of them since you left. Half awake, I turned over and saw Grief staring right at me. She pounced then stood, haughty, on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. She yelled that she would be close today. If she feels like it, she might even be relentless. She is cruel. You were the reason, sweet boy, for me to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Actually, every morning you were my purpose from the moment I opened my eyes until the moment they shut. I knew on...

Keep Reading

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief

Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living

Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief

Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother. People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way. I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief

Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

When the Little Moments Outshine the Big Ones

Journal

When the Little Moments Outshine the Big Ones

Your Prayers Help More Than You Know

Cancer

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Casey Huff

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

That Will Never Happen Here

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like