A Post-Valentine’s Reflection

By Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser

Winter, in Northampton, Massachusetts, really started on Valentine’s morning with a snowy, sleety dump. That same morning, a man dropped off an arrangement of flowers just inside our mudroom door. Now, this is not an unexpected occurrence on this particular day, especially given that my dear husband is out of town for work. So, I stepped into the mudroom and bent down to pick up the flowers. What was unexpected was the background noise. My kids were protesting, quite loudly: “Don’t touch that! We don’t know that man! What if it’s a bomb?”

It took many assurances from me—papa always sends flowers on Valentine’s Day if he’s gone, we get flowers there all the time, Harrison’s mom works at that store and probably made the arrangement—to quell their fears. For just a moment after the scare, they did literally stop and smell the roses.

What ran through my mind was this: the incalculably high number of hidden costs exacted by this so-called “War on Terror.” I felt like shaking a hand toward those who have lead the charge to twist horrific acts of violence on 9-11 into a larger conspiracy that has wrought so much more bloodshed and violence and fear than those who dreamed up the hijack suicide missions could ever have imagined possible. Some observers now deem civil war too simplistic and even too mild a term to describe the seemingly intractable violence in Iraq (and beyond). From the reality on the ground to the palpable sense of unease experienced by those at a very, very far remove from any actual violence, assurances from our leaders that our actions are rendering the world a safer place—for Iraqi or American citizens—seem nothing short of magical thinking, and that’s a generous interpretation.

Meantime, by Cupid’s big day, smack in the middle of February, the sun was already shining longer—on sunny days—and in so doing, nudging our minds toward spring. Winter barely began at the point we often first believe it’ll soon be over. The recent report issued by the United Nations’ International Panel on Climate Change constitutes as definitive a declaration as scientists ever make that the earth is
warming and that humans are responsible for this detrimental development. Their urging that we humans reform our habits and reprioritize so that we save our species and other species and the planet could not be more clearly exhorted or more simply put. If we wanted something to fear, we’ve got it. And yet, without bloodshed, we
can—as many already are—start to repair these wrongs, and thus slowly allay these fears.

My middle son, Lucien, sees the connection clearly: saving the environment and peace do go together, hand-in-hand. He often draws posters about saving the earth. If not invariably then frequently a peace sign or a phrase about stopping the war makes its way to the same page. His desires for a clean earth and a friendly one are rooted in
love. He’s funny and warm and eager to relish what is good in this world. Although he thinks, more than most eight-year-olds perhaps, about the world’s hardships, such as war or poverty or pollution, what’s clear when he’s drawing is that hope trumps fear. His desire to make change comes from the simple fact that he trusts most people are
good and want the best for each other. Save for potential bombs, that is. Certainly, when I experience my own waves of fear—about the terrible toll of war or degradation to our planet—I try to remember that hope is more durable than fear and if love doesn’t quite conquer all, it certainly conquers much more than hate or revenge ever could.