Notes, flowers and other items at the public art installation created by local artist Jacqueline von Edelberg and others to memorialize the victims of the Independence Day mass shooting in Highland Park. (Erin Hooley / Chicago Tribune)

There was the “before,” when Sandy Hook, Buffalo, Uvalde, Parkland, Las Vegas, Christchurch and thousands of other mass shooting scenes seemed so far away. On July Fourth, they were updated by a single word: home.

On a day of national celebration, my hometown of Highland Park grabbed the spotlight on terror. Media trucks descended, drones flew overhead and our tightknit community experienced the worst of humanity.

Overnight, the open-air pavilion at the quiet intersection of St. Johns and Central avenues, a block away from the carnage, became the site of an all-too-familiar ad hoc memorial. Just beyond the phalanx of reporters, solemn people shuffled past photo altars of seven good people. The pile of bouquets, candles and teddy bears rose higher and higher as the world watched our community grieve.

Ten days after the shooting, when the jack-in-the-box crisis response moved on, I headed to the corner with a stockpile of craft supplies, cranked Joe Purdy, tied a ball of yarn to a pillar and offered visitors a heartfelt invitation: “Would you like to wrap this?”

Local artist Jacqueline von Edelberg wraps a stone in yarn and thread at the public art installation created by her and others in Highland Park. (Erin Hooley / Chicago Tribune)

A chorus of a thousand “yeses” brought a living memorial to our community. These contributors transformed a public thoroughfare into an evolving interactive public art installation that speaks to the best of humanity.

Nearly every surface is covered in orange, the color of the anti-gun violence movement. Hadiya Pendleton’s family and friends honored her life by wearing orange after she was fatally shot at a Chicago park in 2013. Orange is the color hunters wear in the woods to protect themselves and others.

Every imaginable hue wraps the posts, which are now covered by more than 7,000 message tags. One of the first was posted by Scarlett Lewis, whose 6-year-old son, Jesse, lost his life at Sandy Hook Elementary School. It reads: “Choose Love.” Weeks later, before traveling to Washington to lobby Congress, resident Ashley Beasley added a note next to Scarlett’s: “Pass the Assault Ban. NOW.” And on the reverse side, “For Jesse.”

Notes from family members of the Highland Park victims hang from altar images, yarn necklaces laden with unfathomable loss: “Papi, It hasn’t gotten easier. I miss you so much. I need you. I love you.”

A decorated mailbox is full of handwritten cards to Cooper Roberts, the 8-year-old boy seriously wounded in the massacre. The brick walkway is blanketed with colorful chalk drawings and scribbled words, such as “Enough” and “HPStrong.”

A note left by Scarlett Lewis at the public art installation created by local artist Jacqueline von Edelberg and others to memorialize the victims of the Independence Day mass shooting in Highland Park. Lewis' son Jesse was killed during the Sandy Hook Elementary School mass shooting, (Erin Hooley / Chicago Tribune)

Visitors leave what they want and take what they need. Yarn engulfs artifacts: rocks, trinkets, memorabilia, crocheted hearts, origami swans, glass butterflies, crosses and Stars of David. A Buddhist altar to Shiva cradles incense, an orchid, a clementine and a chocolate chip cookie. The memorial inhales community voice and exhales healing.

The impracticality and impermanence of it all hardly seem to matter. When summer storms threatened to destroy the altars, a victim’s family came to the rescue, rebuilding all seven by hand. Passersby straighten, fix and chase down errant notecards and wind-blown carpet squares like hovering parents following toddlers.

So many regulars assembled that I know my new family mainly by nickname: Harvey the Cookie Man, Lynn the Music Mama, Sam the First Responder, Ali the Healer, Jeff the Battery Guy, Allison the Doer, Lionel the Carpenter, Jill and Nina the Wonder Workers, Sholo Big Love, Bobby the Resourceful, Fred the Carpet Guy, and Hank, the 88-year-old Rock Wrapper. Scores of young people drift in and out of college, classes, camps and counseling; all go by Hey Kid. Intergenerational activists, Rachel, Dana, Jordana, Stephanie, Sylvia — all go by Sister.

For more than 60 days, we have tended this community expression.

Robert Frost said, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Here, everyone is in.

Some stay for hours. Some stay for longer. Some arrive before dawn, just as their work day begins. Some come at dusk to hear the artists who travel from far and near to play folk, jazz and classical music in the nearby pocket park. Some come at night to find peace in anonymity.

This pavilion, built to create community, is fulfilling its intent. The diversity of the victims and the wounded has brought together mourners of all races, genders, ages, religions and socioeconomic groups. Collaborative craft has overwhelmed cultural differences, language barriers, distrust and fear. For so many of us, the memorial has offered a place and a purpose — a way forward.

Notes and other items at the public art installation created by local artist Jacqueline von Edelberg and others to memorialize the victims of the Independence Day mass shooting in Highland Park. (Erin Hooley / Chicago Tribune)

Undoubtedly, this path must turn our collective anguish into action. For nearly a decade, our city has been fighting for sane gun control. Following Sandy Hook in 2012, the Highland Park City Council courageously passed an assault weapons ban, long after a federal ban expired. After the July Fourth shooting, it unanimously passed a still broader resolution calling for a nationwide ban on what can only be classified as weapons of war.

Recently, we learned that the National Foundation for Gun Rights filed a federal challenge to the local ban’s constitutionality.

How many more skids of yarn must we wrap? How many more bolts of fabric must we tear? How many more tags must we write to stop this madness?

Wherever readers live, we invite you to add your voice to the Highland Park memorial. Post a picture or video of your message to Instagram or Twitter with #HPpromise. Invite five friends to do the same. Hear this roar on HPpromise.org.

In the name of Katherine Goldstein, Irina and Kevin McCarthy, Jacki Sundheim, Stephen Straus, Nicolas Toledo-Zaragoza, Eduardo Uvaldo and the many souls who have senselessly lost their lives to gun violence, we vow to keep our promise. And We. Will. Win.

Jacqueline von Edelberg is the artist and activist behind the interactive public art memorial in Highland Park. Harvey “Cookie Man” Blender contributed to this op-ed. Blender, along with Lynn Orman Weiss, powers the memorial’s song.

Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@chicagotribune.com.