The first snow of winter fell on the Wisconsin woods a few weeks ago and carried me back in time. Do you know how certain smells trigger old memories and feelings sometimes? Well, the fresh powder on the hilly trails of Pike Lake State Park triggered one of mine.

December 2013, five months after we lost my daughter Jessie to violence. The days were short, the birds had gone south, the sky grayed over, the snows came, and the thermometer plummeted. That winter season was very dark for me. Not only had Jessie’s life gone out of the world, but it felt to me like all the life and light was leaving the world.

Life has seasons like that sometimes, doesn’t it? For many, 2020 has been such a season, dark, with unseen impacts beyond just the pandemic and the division. People have lost jobs, businesses, savings, and loved ones. And some people, some spouses and kids, are more isolated now than ever; they suffer even more invisible domestic and sexual violence now than they did before all of this. Family, friends, and the community did not forget me in my season of darkness. Let us not forget victims of violence now either.

One day in the depths of that dark winter, I visited Jessie’s new tree. We had just planted it the summer before. The leaves were gone of course, the bark was badly cracked, there were no signs of life. I wondered if the tree would make it through its first winter. After all, it was a butterfly magnolia, a southern tree, vulnerable here in the cold, mean north.

Standing there by her tree, I wondered. Should I just walk away, leave it to nature, go home, settle in around the fireplace with a glass of wine and a good book, and take care of my own comfort and needs? Should I tell myself “what will be will be” and leave the tree to go it alone and survive by itself? Or should I get to work? Gather some resources? Wrap the tree? Protect its injuries from the bitter cold with a wound dressing? Prune the bad parts so the good parts can flourish? Feed it some winter fertilizer to strengthen it?

Standing there by Jessie’s tree, remembering her, a tear rolled down one cold red cheek as I heard a gentle whisper in my soul, telling me the roots were alive and well. The energy was hiding underground now, unseen, hidden, waiting, hoping faithfully for spring, the next growing season, when the sun would tell Life to burst forth again. The whisper spurred me to action. Go get the burlap, shears, and fertilizer. Protect it, strengthen it, nourish it.

We don’t know when the pandemic will pass, or when polarization will transition back to unity, or when humans will outgrow domestic and sexual violence. But know this: these too are seasons, and eventually they will pass, and new seasons will come, and the sun will tell Life to burst forth again. Leaves will bud, flowers will blossom, and humanity, after taking a step backwards for a while, will take two halting steps forward again, as we always have.

What do we do until then? What do we do during the cold mean winter of domestic and sexual violence? Do we walk away, leave it to nature, go home and take care of our own comforts and needs, because what will be will be, and because there is nothing we can do about it? Let victims and perpetrators of violence go it alone? Or should we get to work? Gather some resources. Wrap them. Protect them. Dress their wounds. Prune the bad parts so the good parts can flourish. Feed them. Strengthen them.

Many victims and perpetrators of violence are hiding underground now like never before, waiting. Its winter for domestic violence, and its cold and mean right now. But what we do now, in the winter, will shape the tree of humankind for seasons to come. Will we do nothing? Will we walk away, leave it to nature? Or do we tend and protect and nourish and strengthen as best we can, even in the middle of winter, even when we don’t see signs of life, trusting that the actions we take and the care we give now, to the whole tree, victims and perpetrators, will pay off one day and spring will come? Like Jessie’s vulnerable tree, which by the way is thriving six years later, the tree of humanity will either perish or it will survive and thrive.

There are many resources for both victim/survivors and perpetrators of violence. We have learned a lot about how to best care for them. There are shelters in every county in the U.S. now. There are service organizations to help both victims and perpetrators. There are “best practices” systems involving law enforcement and the judicial system. The state prison systems offer inmates courses in anger management, domestic violence, sex offenses, drug and alcohol recovery, and thinking for change. These are the tools we have right now to wrap, prune, fertilize, and protect the tree. They are necessary. They are good. This is what we can do right now, in the winter.

But one thing is lacking, and that is the warmth and sunshine of spring. As the spring sun is to Jessie’s tree, so is Love to the human tree. The movement of the sun and earth will make spring come automatically. But Love won’t come automatically. Love is a choice. Love is a decision. Love takes effort. And it comes from all of us. It comes from you. Bring the Love. Bring the spring.

This is not some pie in the sky idealistic whimsical generalization. This is: walk away, or pick up the burlap, fertilizer, shears, and wound dressing, and let’s get to work together. This is: practice Love everywhere. Always. This is: when the snow falls in the Wisconsin woods generations from now, the old memories triggered in our children’s children’s children could be very different from mine and yours. They could be memories not of hate but of Love. But that depends on what we do, and who we are, now, in this season, the cold mean winter of human violence.

Sincerely,
Buck Blodgett, Executive Director

 

Accompanying song: “You Are the Moon” by The Hush Sound, performed by Jessie Blodgett. Another “lost song,” given to us by Jessie’s middle school math teacher. Please forgive the poor quality and focus on her voice and intention.