For those who do not know me, my name is Kristin Song. On January 31, 2018, I sat across the breakfast table from my 15-year-old son Ethan, who munched on his bagel, telling me excitedly about his hopes and dreams. I took a deep breath and marveled. He was no longer a child but a smart, confident, compassionate young man who I knew would make a difference in this world.
Four hours later, he was dead. And his hopes and dreams lay scattered across his best friend's bedroom floor. I heard the ambulance scream past our road. I had no idea my son was taking his last breaths.
My husband and I waited in a tiny hospital room. The E.R. doctor finally came in, buried his face in his hands, and whispered, "your son is gone." It was eerily quiet for a moment except for the sound of my heart breaking. "I need to see Ethan,'' I said. The E.R. doctor looked at me: "please remember Ethan as he was. He is unrecognizable even to your eyes; your son was shot in the head." I walked out of the hospital into the starless night to begin my life sentence as my beautiful boy was being wheeled to the morgue to begin his death sentence.
Over the following months, I discovered the negligent gun owner stored his three handguns with the ammunition in a shoebox. His son had been accessing the unsecured guns for six months. In our case, the gun owner would suffer zero consequences, not even a fine. In the eyes of the law, my child meant nothing, but that would change.
And that is why I have been fighting to pass Ethan's Law for the past five years in D.C. I have you all to thank for getting us one step closer. Thank you for never giving up until Senator Fetterman cosponsored. Thank you for honoring Ethan.