I'M Partly Responsible For My Son's Death

I'm in a lot of pain because I'm partly responsible for the death of my son. I didn't believe him when he said that one of his classmates carried a gun. He begged and pled with me not to send him to school that day. He said that he was in danger but I made him go to school anyway. His classmate shot my son through the heart. Now as I'm burying him, it's tearing me apart. My son said that his classmate was an evil bully. I should've listened when he said that he was unruly. But I thought that my son was exaggerating, I didn't think that a thirteen year old would get shot. It proves how terrible the world is when kids shoot other kids, if you're wondering if I can get over this tragedy, I can not. I want that punk to be tried as an adult, he should pay dearly for his crime. A preacher told me to forgive the boy, if I can forgive, it will take a long time. When my son told me that his life was in danger, I should've listened and taken action. I want that punk to spend the rest of his life in a cold dark cell, that will give me satisfaction. My poor son told me that he would be killed and I should've known it wasn't exaggerated. Now as my son's casket is being lowered into the ground, I feel anger and I'm devastated. (This is a fictional poem.)