Over two weeks ago, Valentine’s Day to be exact, the ultimate act of senseless violence hit close to home. A tragic incident resulting in innocent people losing their lives hit another U.S. campus.

The difference is this time it happened right in our backyard.Northern Illinois University is about an hour west of Chicago and is located in the town of DeKalb. It is also where my youngest daughter, Catherine, goes to school.

To say that the last few weeks have been hard is an understatement. Your feelings become synthesized when tragedies like these happen somewhere else. Your heart aches for the victims and their families, as in the case of Virginia Tech and all the other campuses affected by these senseless shootings. You pray that these kids are able to handle the aftermath and deal with life after the carnage.

But when a normal day at the office got turned upside down because of a phone call from your child informing you of a shooting, right in her campus, your world totally changes. When it hits home, there’s no telling the gamut of emotions you go through.

It was just after 3 p.m. Valentine’s Day, when I received that call. I was wrapping up my day and looking forward to going home early when she called. I remember our conversation like it was just a few minutes ago. My cell phone rings, I picked up and heard my daughter’s frantic voice on the other line. “Mom, there was a shooting, “ she tells me. “Shooting, where?” I asked. “Right here at N.I.U., Mom and people are hurt,” she further tells me, her voice quivering and hardly audible. “Where are you now,” I asked her. “I’m in my apartment now, Mom,” she said as she burst into tears.

At this point, everything around me including time froze only to be disturbed by the sound of footsteps. My husband rushed to my office and not knowing that I just spoke to our daughter, he yells at me to call Cathy because he too heard of the shooting on the radio.

Adrenalin kicked in and we immediately drove to pick up our daughter. The hour drive turned to 45 minutes as my husband maneuvered the rush-hour traffic. I started feeling really sick as I sat in the car on the way to DeKalb, quietly reliving my conversation with our daughter — what if, why, what could have triggered this and who could have done it. All the bad thoughts started creeping in my head as we had our ears glued to the radio for updates at the same time. Then the reality of everything started to sink in as we hear injuries and possible fatalities.

The ride back home was difficult to say the least. Our daughter was distraught more so after she got a call confirming that the only boy who got shot died. In the midst of her breakdown after that phone call, I was able to pick through what she was saying. He was a close friend of hers, a fraternity brother. He was a really good guy, a gentle giant, she says.

As parents, this was something new for us. How do you console your child who is in a lot of pain? How do you stop her from crying? How do you explain this senseless act? What do you tell her when she asked why bad things happen?

There were no words to assuage the hurt that she was feeling at that moment. Nothing could numb her pain. I was helpless and at the same time indignant towards the person who caused her all the grief. You watch your 22-year-old become a little child once again as you hold her tight and comfort her. As we rocked back and forth, her agonizing sobs and wails pierced my heart like a dagger. In my mind, I was thinking how dare this person steal the joy and happiness from the thousands of kids who simply were at N.I.U. that day to get their education.

I went on a 24-hour vigil right after we got home. Her brother, her dad and I watched her closely. We eagerly turned to the TV for updates. Bit by bit, we found out more about the gunman. It turned out that he used to live in the town where we live now; he even went to the same high school as all my three kids. We sadly learned of the identities of those who were killed.

In the days that followed the shooting, we went on an emotional roller coaster ride with our daughter. Understandably, she retreated to her room, her thoughts and her pain for the next few days. As a way for her to cope and heal, she, along with her sorority sisters, went to Dan Parmenters’ wake and memorial service a few days after. She drove back to the N.I.U. campus twice to meet up with some of her friends.

Classes were suspended for a week after the shooting. The N.I.U. folks, from the president, to the faculty and staff, to the campus and the DeKalb police were quick to do the right thing after. They came together to make the students feel safe and secure. They responded to the media’s probing questions with much sensitivity and respect for the families of those who died and the thousands of students who were affected.

As we learned more about the lives of the gunman and those who died, I am extremely saddened by the thought of how early five dreams and hopes got snuffed. I grieve for the families of the five kids who died and even for the gunman’s father. Once again, the issues of mental illness and gun control are hot on the trail every time these tragedies happen. But these are complicated issues and there are no easy answers.

Thousands attended the memorial last Sunday to remember the five students who died when a gunman opened fired in their classroom. With many of them wearing the N.I.U. colors of black and red and black and red ribbons, my daughter was among the thousands who paid her respects to those who lost their lives and the others who were injured. Five bouquets of white and red flowers were placed on stage of the Convocation Center to remember the five kids.

I remembered asking my daughter before she headed out last Sunday if she was ready to go back, to pick up where her life stopped after that fateful Thursday afternoon. Her response to me was “I am ready as I can ever be, Mom. I know that God is protecting me as well as grandpa.”

As she drove off, I said a prayer and turned to the news. It was reassuring to see “Forward, Together Forward” plastered everywhere in DeKalb and especially around the N.I.U. campus. This simple battle cry has breathe hope for the returning students that normalcy is starting to take shape in their campus despite what happened. Classes resumed last Monday, February 25th.

As a mom, I can only imagine what my daughter and the other kids are going through. In as much as I would want to protect her from all the loonies of the world, I can’t. I know that she is trying her best to make sense of this crazy world after the tragedy and as hard as it is for a parent to see her or his child go through pain, I have to let her come to terms with this senseless tragedy in her own terms.

Through time, the pain will go away. Although this tragedy will forever be etched in her mind, I thank God everyday that I am still able to talk to her and hold her whenever she’s home…something that six families won’t be able to do.

Till next time, take time to tell the people you love that you love them. Three simple words, “I love you” could simply mean the distance between despair and joy.