I Was Utterly Defenseless

It was an evening just like any other.   My husband and I had put our son to bed and we were looking forward to some “together time” while we watched an episode of Star Trek. Suddenly we heard the crash of breaking glass and the wail of the security alarm.  As I went for the phone, my husband went for his .45 automatic. We knew the drill.  We had rehearsed it many times.  But this time was different. This time, a shot was fired.

As I ran for the phone, I glanced out our bedroom door and down the hallway.  I saw the silhouette of an intruder, standing, framed in our front door.  I got to the phone as my husband began making his way down the hall.  I heard him yelling, “Leave now!  Leave now!  I am armed!  I will shoot you!” As I relayed what was happening to the 911 operator, I heard a loud “pop.”  Was that a gunshot?  I couldn’t tell.  The alarm drowned out nearly everything.  Was my husband alright?  Was my son safe?  Worry crept into my mind.  The seconds crawled by like hours.  To my relief, my husband finally backed into the room.  He told me that he had fired a round through the front window, and that the intruder had taken off on a motorcycle.  Moments later, the police arrived.  We were safe, and the intruder was caught fleeing the scene.

Although no one was hurt, and the only damage was a couple of broken windows, the bullet my husband fired shattered more than glass that night.  I was comfortable with the idea that if something happened, “My husband has a gun.  He’ll handle it.”   That bullet made me come to a realization that had not crossed my mind. I was utterly defenseless.  If an intruder shot down or, God forbid, killed my husband, I would have no way to get to my 17-month-old son.  Even if I was able to grab my husband’s gun, I wouldn’t be able to use it. Not because I have reservations about shooting someone who has broken into my home and taken out my husband, but because I don’t really know how to operate it.  All I could hope to do would be to fend off an armed criminal with my bare hands or run out the back and hope my son would go unnoticed until the police arrived.  These are NOT options I can live with.

I was confronted with one simple truth.  I NEED a firearm of my own.

I realized that I needed the ability to defend myself and my family. This capability comes with an obligation, to my household and the community, to learn how to operate my firearm properly.  This means educating myself about how to use and keep it safely and responsibly.  This insight is the inspiration for this blog.  It is my hope that it will empower other mothers to learn how to defend themselves and their families.