One of the biggest polling companies does a sad survey every time children are slaughtered barbarically in their classrooms. We are slowly becoming a culture of barbarians. The people who profit from selling these weapons to children who can’t even vote in most states know us better than we know.

The surveys have found that after mass shootings in schools, Americans get outraged on the third day when the story and pictures strike home. It doesn’t last long.

But then, by the next day, they begin to forget and understandably move on with their lives. I’m already failing these children, strangers to me, but still, they haunt me sometimes. Life goes on as it has to; I can’t fault people for that. I do the same. Many people have given up on the idea that the government will protect these children. The very least I can do is remember them.

But there are just too many.

These people know that if they pull their ads and send their donations to members of Congress, we are now a nation so numbed by killing innocent children and adults that we will forget about it after a while, and nothing will be done. The news reports various crises every hour; how can human beings keep up?

So all the machine gun sellers have to do is sit and wait. That awful moment is already upon us; the news is beginning to move on, the bodies are being buried, and the political posturing is underway—lots of prayers, no actions.

When I wonder who they think they are fooling, I have to remind myself that they are fooling most of us.

I don’t want to think of murdered children always; that would eat me alive. I don’t want to forget them either; that would be unacceptable.

So I will count on these beautiful flowers in my memorial-raised bed garden to heal and grow and remind me to think about all the children whose lives have been taken by them. Flowers remind me of the color and beauty in the world.

Having to remember dead children is a great evil that makes me tremble with anger and sadness.

Hope is about faith, and I have faith and hope and believe we will awaken one day and do the right thing. Remembering, even one at a time, might help push us over the edge. There is no real penalty to the politicians for letting our children die. And there don’t seem to be many people of conscience left in politics.

But because of the flowers, I remember every day, even if it’s just for a few seconds.

To help me remember these children – there are hundreds now; I bought a small garden bed and a hanging basket full of Nasturtiums that were dying.

I thought that nothing would be a more appropriate memorial than beautiful flowers coming back to life and reminding us how precious life is.

The Nasturtiums are fighting back, sending buds to the sky, opening up, and planting seeds. I visit them two or three hours a day to gently spray water, pull up any sign of weeds, check on the peppermint plans that will help them, and watch the once pale colors blossom.

I dead-heated, clipped, and trimmed, and this good advice works to my amazement. The flowers will keep me from forgetting; that is somehow comforting and affirming. Nasturtium babies are popping up.

I am free to do other things, but at least I know I have done one thing. I remember.