In a week where disaster and struggle seem to be the only theme we can see, finding hope anymore is hard. But then I wonder how everyone else found it through the years — how our ancestors who struggled through wars, changing race relations, conflict, fear of a nuclear outbreak, and natural disasters over the years found hope, unity, and the things that we must find in trying times like these.

It's not to say we haven't before and we aren't finding that unity right now, but something about how divisive our political climate is after the terrorist attack in Vegas (yes, I'm calling it a terrorist attack contrary to many news outlets) makes me wonder how soon it will be before we'll fall down the rabbit hole of another shooting and react as we always do — saying it isn't time to talk about guns, defending our right to bear arms, and wholeheartedly forgetting what is so necessary for these situations: empathy.

Can we, for one second, forget our allegiances and our votes and our favorite candidates and think about the mother who lost her baby last week, the wife who is now a widow, or the family who is broken and distraught to likely never recover from such an unbearable loss?

I saw a former classmate tweet after the tragedy "Still pro-gun". And I'm listening to the news as the Trump administration's senior officials say now isn't the time to talk about the gun legislation because we're so caught up in the wake of the tragedy and in keeping our thoughts with the families. And then my boyfriend and I talk about it, and he talks about guns and tells me how the statistics we hear about American gun deaths and how extreme they numerically don't even scratch the surface — we have a real problem.

Before I talk about political divisiveness — I guess this is where I break the bad news to you that I might get divisive now — hear me out. I'm pro-gun control in every way possible. And I don't know how you can't be after this tragedy. I don't know how you can defend your firearm after any of these tragedies. And like so many have already said, we keep having the same conversation — it's happened since we lost so many young, beautiful children and their teachers at Sandy Hook and for all the mass shootings before and after that.

I know people with guns, people who are responsible gun owners. From a very personal standpoint, I don't understand it. But from a standpoint where I'll try to be as objective as possible, I can see how the hobby and pastime can be a passion for someone. Or at least I'm trying to understand that. But I think in the same breath I would argue that those responsible gun owners would argue for gun control too, because who needs a rifle? And why are some absolutely destructive pieces of weaponry necessary in the average 2017 household?

But when it comes to the lives lost, the innocent dreams that were forgotten and cut short, the families torn apart forever, I'm trying my very best to weigh each side — those who treasure gun ownership as a prideful hobby and those who don't have their loved ones anymore. I want to understand the passion to own guns, but what I want more right now is for the pro-gun population and the legislators who stand with them to find it in them to be empathetic. Because this is what I think we lack so much in this moment post-tragedy.

How can you face the family who is broken and who will never speak to their loved one lost in a senseless act of terror and say you are pro-gun? It's hard for me to comprehend. But like I said before, we're in a time of great divisiveness and I want to move away from that here in my writing. What I'm working to get at is something our entire country needs — this greater, overpowering, sense of empathy.

To be empathetic is to understand and feel the emotion and struggle of another. And to be empathetic in every facet of our lives, no matter where we're from would bring us more closure, more understanding, and frankly, more chance for progress in the legislature.

Think of it like this — if everyone made an effort to feel how these families are feeling, couldn't we bridge the gap across the political aisle and find room for compromise?

Certainly.

And if we aimed to feel the pain of the mothers of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown in the wake of their deaths, we would surely be able to talk about and find a solution to the problem of police brutality that we all acknowledge, on both sides.

If we could feel the stress and fear of the majority in San Juan, Puerto Rico, would we be more inclined to press the administration to help and to do our best to help from far away?

If we could hold the hands of every parent who has a sick child benefiting from Obamacare who would otherwise not see their teenage years, would we think differently about the healthcare debate?

And if we could feel the pain of a mother who wasn't ready to be a parent and had to choose abortion, would we understand the pro-life side of the debate?

If we knew a police officer so different from those we see on the news when another police shooting takes place, would we retrace our steps and think more critically about all sides of the story?

If we understood or tried to envision why every person feels how they do, where their views stem from, and why they stand strong in their beliefs, would we make more progress?

Would we open up a conversation fueled by empathy rather than anger?

Yes, infinitely. I believe it without a doubt.

I'm not asking you to take my side. I'm just asking you to understand because I'm trying to do the same thing.

I think life is about stories, and, through stories and through embracing the fact that we are so human and so vulnerable, we can find empathy.

We need to see past the votes and laws and regulations to find the humanity in us all and to help out our neighbors, and from there we'll make the best decisions for the future, with the hurting hearts of those impacted by tragedies in mind.