Certain expressions of love come naturally, especially when we’re little. Mom told me many times about how, when I was just learning to talk, I would call out from my stroller into neighbors’ homes as we passed them on our block in Brookfield: “I la lu!”
Today, when she’s feeling affectionate, my 2-year-old granddaughter finds it easy to say to us: “Wayu Beepa” or “Wayu Mama.”
However, while “I love you” can show up in many situations and innocent utterances, there is only one day in the year, Valentine’s Day, when it’s something we are all invited to express. In fact, calling someone “my Valentine,” even without using the L word, conveys an affection that might not be shared on any other day.
But despite its innocence, Valentine’s Day’s origins weren’t so benign.
While its history is somewhat murky, legend has it that St. Valentine died honoring marital love: as a Catholic cleric around 270 AD, he was caught secretly performing marriages for young men who had not yet completed their military service. Emperor Claudius II had forbidden such unions, holding that single men made better soldiers. He ordered that Valentine be beaten and beheaded for violating his edict. Father, or possibly Bishop, Valentine was martyred and then buried on the Via Flaminia, an ancient Roman Road, on Feb. 14. The Feast of St. Valentine was later established by Pope Gelasius I in 496.
OK, that was then. Flash forward to my grade-school class at St. Mary of Celle in Berwyn at 15th and Wesley, far from Via Flaminia. Sister Mary Fortunata is overseeing our exchange of Valentine’s cards; sweet articulations of affection and friendship, even for the kids we didn’t like. But a darker history lurked even there: Little did I know at the time that St. Fortunata, whose name our nun had taken, had herself been martyred in 303 AD for refusing to renounce her faith and accept a proposal of marriage from Emperor Diocletian’s son.
Over the centuries, love’s dark roots have influenced even its kindest representations. Take, for example, the red rose, often a symbol of love bought and brought on Valentine’s Day. Its taproot extends deep into the dirt. Certain kinds of roses grow thorns. I’ve pricked my fingers on them a few times, drawing blood. Nevertheless, the intensity of the red in the overlapping layers of its petals has long evoked love, passion and beauty.
The dark and the bright powers in love in fact feed off one another, even if in a particular card only the light stream is active. Had St. Valentine not put himself in harm’s way to propagate sacramental marriage, we wouldn’t have the day we have today with its many manifestations of affection, appreciation, passion and endearment.
Marriage itself is endemically mixed with love and darker emotions such as hurt, longing and disappointment. Loving that one person over many years makes it like no other relationship, as the love gets richer, due in part to having worked through difficult, sometimes wounding passages.
Maureen and I are in our 41st year of marriage. I still remember what I said after our first kiss in 1983: “You just got prettier.” That brief, simple, physical act opened me to rose energy. Our love was taking root. Over the decades we’ve negotiated many phases of change, culling, joy, suffering and growth. We lived in a variety of neighborhoods. We gardened. We raised four kids. We now enjoy theirs.
I’ll close with a note to my Valentine:
“I la lu, Maureen.”
Rich Kordesh is an Oak Park resident.
