Editor’s Note: Karen Murgolo is editorial director of Springboard Press, an imprint of Grand Central Publishing, which publishes nonfiction books for women and men over 40. 

Today, as I sit at my desk and read the hourly updates about the tragic shooting at my son’s school and my alma mater, Wesleyan, I can’t help but think about how my son’s childhood and his brushes with public crises and tragedies is so much more personal than mine.

My friends and I grew up crying about the assassinations of political leaders: John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy. These deaths were tragic, and had great ramifications for the country and its citizens. But there were few of us who felt it affected us on a very personal level.

Our children, on the other hand, have grown up with the tragedies of the Oklahoma City bombing, the Columbine shooting, the massive destruction of 9/11, the Virginia Tech massacres and other horrible tragedies that touch everyday citizens going about their business — whether it’s going to an office, a day-care center, a class, or — as in the case of Johanna Justin-Jinich — working at a café to earn some money to help pay the college bills.

I live in a suburb outside of New York City. On September 11, 2001, when I went to pick up my sons from school, I found that they were not being released early, as the officials weren’t sure how many of the children’s parents might have been affected by the World Trade Center destruction. Later that day, I heard how the parents of three of my son’s close friends either happened to not be at work that day, or got to work late, or decided not to listen to the loudspeaker and walked down the stairs to safety instead of staying at their desks. I felt so grateful for this gift that these boys I knew didn’t have to experience such a tragic loss so young.

Now I think of my son and his two friends from our town, confined to their dorms at college. (As it happens, the father of one of these friends was the one who got to the World Trade Center late on September 11 and avoided catastrophe.) I can’t quite believe that a tragedy, which has made the nightly news and the newspapers and websites, touches someone I hold so close to my heart. But then, I remember that this same child has grown up knowing 9/11 happened 20 miles away, and that there are different colors for how safe he should feel that day, and that you don’t just enter a plane without taking off your shoes and belt and throwing away your bottle of water. He knows these are the rules, the way things are today.

But what I find heartening is that my son and his friends constantly build havens around themselves, and they revel in their freedom. I resent that his current haven has temporarily been upset. But last night when he called, he sounded fine, and not very worried or scared. He was still making plans and telling us of his schedule for finals and moving his stuff back home. The only thing that was different about his phone call is that at the end of it he said something that usually goes unsaid, although it is understood. He said, "Mom, I love you."