Hope is a great stone mountain. It doesn’t move. It’s the bright North Star in the night sky that I know will always be there, even if I can’t see it because of the clouds. It’s the memory of Evelyn rolling over in the middle of the night to cuddle in our sleep, even though she now is gone. It’s what kept me going.
Hope is barbed wire because just when I think I’m done with life, that everything is over and nothing is left, and I’m about to excuse myself and take my leave, hope snags a piece of me, makes me think that, well, maybe something will work out, and pulls me back. Maybe something will happen that I don’t anticipate, something that I don’t even realize is possible. It’s not like I know everything that goes on, and I’ve been surprised and gobsmacked in the past. And this sticks in my flesh and won’t let go.