I am not qualified to write on this subject. I am a high school student, but here I am, penning an article on gun violence. It’s not even an article; it’s a blog post—something personal by definition, because gun violence has become personal for every single person in the United States.

This morning, the nation learned of another tragedy—that word, “another,” stings. I have been repeating the facts all day, numbness coating each word. Last night, at Pulse—a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida—a gunman killed 50 and wounded 53 more. It has been called the worst mass shooting in American history.

There are no words to express the horror, the devastation and the grief, but we have become well-versed in the proper reaction to this kind of tragedy.

Facebook has already filled with posts asking for thoughts and prayers, many with the hashtag #OrlandoStrong. Others have renewed calls for the reform of gun control legislation, drawing on this incident as the latest in a long line of tragedies that we label as something else: wake-up calls.

I’m sorry to report this, but the nation is still asleep.

The list is familiar, too familiar, spanning a decade and a half of violence: Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, Sandy Hook, Charleston, San Bernardino. Today, we add the name of another place scarred by gun violence: Orlando. Today, activists and politicians will raise their voices a little louder in the fight to ban assault rifles. Today, Americans will shake their heads and say, “It happened again.”

Throughout his seven years in office, President Barack Obama has addressed the nation after 13 separate incidents of gun violence. His once-tearful reactions have lost their zeal. Today, he was stoic.

But this is more than “another” shooting, more than politics. This is a tragedy, and I am afraid that we may have forgotten that.

It’s not our fault; as a nation, we witness mass shootings more days than not. In 2015, at least one mass shooting—defined as an incident in which at least four people, not counting the shooter, are shot—occurred on 221 of 365 days, according to the Gun Violence Archive (GVA). That’s over 60 percent of the days in the year, resulting in a total of 471 deaths and leaving more than one thousand injured, perhaps altering the course of their lives forever.

The GVA keeps another record of every incident of gun violence that has occurred in the last 72 hours. This afternoon, there were nine pages of incidents to scroll through, including the massacre in Orlando. It happens every day, everywhere. It’s only natural that we have become jaded, and allowed for the normalization of senseless killings.

Just last month, the gun violence epidemic entered Montgomery County, our home. It may not have felt massive, but it met the threshold for a mass shooting—four civilians were shot, two of them killed. It felt different for it to be right here, in our community, at a mall that we have all been to. It was jarring, tragic. But a month has passed, and it seems we’ve all but forgotten, because it was just another shooting, and nothing was done—please, don’t accept this.

It has become a forgone conclusion that politics is too polarized, too broken, for reform. This morning, a friend told me to cheer up—if I was going to be sad over every shooting, I’d never get anywhere. This is just how it is.

This indifferent, hopeless mindset—and the fact that I understood where she was coming from—terrified me just as much as the violence.

The minute we forget how to grieve these tragedies, as common as they may be, is the moment we lose some of our humanity and lose hope of change. We can’t allow shootings to be our status quo.

There is no promise of change, not today and perhaps not anytime soon, but failure is certain if we give up now. For now, we can grieve; we can mourn; we can remember.