Dear Jordan,

Every Mother’s Day since you were ripped away from us, I daydream about all the time we never got to spend and the life that I and countless other gun violence survivors would have had if things turned out differently.

On a day like today, we might’ve all gone out for a Mother’s Day brunch. I picture the wrinkles that would start to show on your smile as we enter the restaurant, the raspy onset of your grown voice as you ordered, and maybe by now—even the ways your children would have taken on your features I had grown to love since you were my little boy.

On Mother’s Day, we celebrate all the ways mothers move mountains for their children. Ask any mom, and they’ll share a laundry list of the challenges of parenting.

And yet, there’s nothing I wouldn’t trade to spend just one more moment with you: all your sleepless nights as an infant, the mud you’d track into our home after rainy days, or the trouble of bringing home a real Christmas tree that YOU always insisted we get.

It’s easy to yearn for these moments during long days in Congress, but each moment I get to share your story on the House floor, propose solutions for the laws that put your life in harms way, or any other means to end this scourge of gun violence, I’m reminded of why I’m here—and why you’re not. Gun violence took you away from us, and as your mother, I promise I will never stop fighting this epidemic for as long as there is breath in my being.

Jordan, I love you dearly. I know you’re wishing me a happy Mother’s Day from up above. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon, but not too soon— there’s far too much left to do in this fight.