I wish this could be the last shooting we discuss over breakfast.

I wish this could be the last time I ask, “How many?” followed by “Were there any kids?” and hold my breath for the answer.

I wish this could be the last time I wait for the answer to the question I don’t ask aloud: the shooter’s race? and the victims’?

I wish this could be the last time (this, the fourteenth time) I listen to the president convey his sorrow for our nation.

I wish this could be the last time I hear people jump to the defense of the weapons that killed these people before their bodies are even in the ground.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish.