Broken

All summer I have been captivated by the swarms of butterflies dancing amongst my zinnias and celosias. Their fragile wings and luscious colors are enchanting parts of summer magic that I forget until the season comes around again.

Recently, I noticed that one of the butterflies’ wings was broken. She (he?) was still able to fly, but it made me wonder how difficult it is to move with a clipped wing. What happens if it breaks completely?

This week, driving home from work and listening to the news about Charlie Kirk’s assassination, I noticed the butterflies as I walked to the mailbox. Those butterflies’ wildly free dance in the air above the flower bed seemed so incongruent with the harsh, ugly world of senseless violence in which we find ourselves.

I had no idea who he was before his murder, so I set out to watch and hear Kirk’s viewpoints. An eloquent speaker, he made strong statements against gays, blacks, trans people and women’s rights. All of these are in direct contradiction to my core Christian beliefs.

And yet he deserved to speak and did not deserve to die. And all of us should be devastated.

No matter what you think of Kirk’s beliefs, it is shameful to say, as many have, that his hateful rhetoric warranted his death. What a horrible thought process. It is heartbreaking to think of such a violent death for any American. It is impossible not to shed tears over those two little children who will never know their father.

I find myself wondering, as with all shootings, where it will all end? How did we get to the point where we can’t argue points without devolving into hatred and violence?

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a Republican lady in her 90s, still incredibly sharp and well spoken. We discussed politics and, although her stance in general was more conservative than mine, on the hot topics of homosexuality and gender identify—two of Kirk’s prominent conversation pieces—she said, “What I don’t understand is, if you don’t believe in homosexuality, then just don’t be homosexual.”

Over-simplistic, yes. But talking to her made me think that her live-and-let-live perspective has been swallowed up by the need to win every argument, to be the loudest voice in the room. Neither political party seems immune to the violence, as we recently grieved the assassinations of Democratic state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband, leaving two children orphaned. And let’s not forget the Minneapolis children who aren’t even old enough to be of a political persuasion.

Where does it all end? What will be the seminal event that makes us wake up and reclaim our nation? People argue that guns aren’t the issue; we should focus on mental health instead. Okay, do that then. Yet, time and again, healthcare and mental health fundings are cut.

And so we wait, our country flying on clipped wings, until our fragile democracy succumbs to hate.

This morning as I was washing dishes, I broke a tiny coffee cup, circa 1960s, that had been my mother’s. It was a ridiculously insufficient size, but I have held on to it for reasons I can’t explain and drink orange juice out of it every Saturday. Years ago, when I asked Mom why she didn’t use a mug instead, she insisted that cup was just the right size. Just enough. Breaking that cup brought sudden tears to my eyes. Surely I was grieving not the loss of a value-less cup but the loss of a generation that knew moderation—in words, in spending, in actions.

Disappearing is my parents’ generation of measured rhetoric and polite society. We need their voices now.

Kirk was famous for saying he didn’t believe in empathy. Perhaps this is the biggest difference between us and might just be a pivotal point in our nation’s divide. How can we ever move forward with effective legislation or justice if we do not have the ability, do not attempt, to empathize. At what point did empathy become a woke term, as Kirk suggested? Isn’t putting oneself in the shoes of another a life lesson we teach our children? While Kirk’s wife has my sympathy, she also has my empathy. As painful and difficult as it is, I can imagine myself as a young widow with two children.

As we shed sympathetic tears for Kirk’s family, we need to empathize with and understand his supporters—as well as those groups his words offended.

Sympathy makes us grieve. Empathy compels us to take action to prevent the next tragedy. I believe we need both sympathy and empathy, lest our nation’s broken wings ground us permanently.