On a sunny brisk Saturday morning a little over two weeks ago, my daughter and I headed out on a shopping expedition. We had so much fun that day I almost forgot to mention what else happened that day. Almost.

We got into the car, and donned our sunglasses on a brisk but very sunny February day. We zigged and zagged out of our neighborhood, made a right and then drove straight for about 10 minutes. We arrived at an almost-brand-new shopping center complete with every store we were bent on visiting that day, and then some.

To enter the parking lot we needed to make a left, but the street was blocked by a police car, so I drove straight.

“We’ll go in another entrance,” I said to my daughter. “I guess there was an accident.”

I considered turning finding another way in, but quickly realized it wasn’t going to work. I realized there was no other entrance just about the time my daughter noticed the television cameras.

“Let’s shop somewhere else today,” I said. “But let’s listen to the news to see if we can find out what’s going on.”

I did not expect our little South Suburban enclave to be on the news, but I did think that if the road be backed up with traffic for miles, that it might warrant a mention.

And then at noon on Saturday February 2, 2008 as I was driving past the far end of our intended shopping destination in Tinley Park, Illinois, I found out about the shootings at Lane Bryant, for which there was little to no information at the time.

That’s exactly where we were headed. And although Lane Bryant was not on our To-Do list, it was right across the parking lot from the Kohl’s, Michael’s and Ulta that were.

I kept driving and driving. I was sick to my stomach. We went shopping 30 minutes in the opposite direction, even though I wanted to go home. I didn’t want my daughter to think she should be scared. I did forbid my son from walking around with his friends that day and offered my services as Mother Chauffeur.

It wasn’t until much later that we found out that Carrie Hudek Chuisso was killed. She was a social worker at my son’s high school. He knew her because she was the one who came to his Honors Chemistry class to explain a situation with the teacher.

And it wasn’t until after that we found out another victim was a resident of our town, with a child at one of the elementary schools, and at the high school.

Two of the five senseless losses that day were a direct hit on the high school one mile from my house, where I drive to every day - twice - where the flag continues to fly at half-staff.