I apologize. This newsletter should've been sent to you a few weeks ago. It was waiting on me. Since last month, it appears that most attempts at the routine, everyday simple tasks are a struggle. Even as much as I enjoy the opportunity to share my heart through writing, it has been a labor to find words, or even the motivation to compose them into something worth your time to read.

A few weeks ago, at the National PTA Legislative Conference in Washington, D.C., every state president took an opportunity to share in our grief, our sorrow and our determination. We are, by no means, the only state to experience the unexpected this year. I sat next to leaders from Puerto Rico, California, Texas and New York, each dealing with their own devastations and losses this year, whether due to natural or man-made disasters. We bonded together as we remembered those who have lost so much, whether it was their possessions, their homes or their loved ones. It's not the connection we had expected to make, but our shared experiences have created a unique common thread that will fasten us together for years to come. Loss is that thread.

This past weekend, I marched with thousands who didn't know me. They did not know my title, my experiences or my tribe. They did not know how close this story was to me, just how much it has impacted my day-to-day life and turned my last few months as president in a direction I could not have anticipated. Everyone there had their own title, their own experience and their own tribe. Maybe they had lost a child to gun violence. Maybe they had been working tirelessly for years to fight for better solutions. Maybe they were a teacher who now felt a moment of dread each day, by just pulling into the parking lot at their school. Maybe they were a student who panicked last week when the fire alarm sounded. Maybe they were a grandmother, or a veteran, or a lawmaker, or a new father. Regardless of their title, we were all there for one reason, connected by one common thread: to shout at whomever would listen that we can lose no more. Not one more. Not one more.

As I marched, I held in my hand the funeral cards from a few of the services I attended last month in Broward County. I frequently looked down at Peter, Nick, Aaron and Chris. I will not allow myself to forget Peter's funeral, the sight of a 15-year-old child, in full ROTC uniform, guarded by his fellow classmates at each end of his casket. Whatever opinions I held the morning of February 14th, they are forever changed. Whatever goals I had that morning are forever altered. Whatever plans I had are forever amended.

After yesterday, my faith has been renewed and my resolve has been re-ignited. The spark that had become an ember in a resting fire has now returned to a blazing flame that will not be extinguished by a little rain. We all know that natural disasters cannot be prevented. We will always prepare, experience and recover from storms, floods and fires. What can be prevented is the loss of another child, teacher or student. While reaching common ground on what methods will achieve this may be challenging, the conversation cannot stop. The goal cannot be lost. We must continue to speak for those who no longer have a voice. We must continue to look for those commonalities and strive for solutions. We must continue to fight for the lives of ALL children.

Thank you so much for your patience and forgiveness.

We are offering you a crazy amount of information and training for three days at the low early-bird price of  $85.00 . I have been attending these trainings for over a dozen years and trust me, things change and you may need to be updated on the latest processes. Now that that part is covered, let me add this part: make friends, fun, food, and time in a different city. We have receptions, snacks, meals, and other events added to the educational piece. See you in July; bring your best ideas or mind-blowing questions.