Hope

Once in a while, I find myself reflecting on a particular fact of life: the fact that sometimes everything you’ve ever known is taken away from you in an instant.

You have no say in the matter as you watch your past and future crumble before you in slow motion. The pieces deteriorate into a fine dust and blow away in a swift and silent wind.

You’re dumbfounded and don’t understand what just happened. All you know is that you’re alone, left with nothing and no one. You have no direction; all you know is that you want out.

You get angry and want to fight off the pain and desperation that’s attempting to consume you. But you’re tired. You’re tired from the crying and you’re tired from your hamster-wheel mind, which is trying to make sense out of something that makes no sense.

You tell yourself to breathe in and out. You tell yourself to put one foot in front of the other. You start off by having good hours. Which turn into good days. Which will someday turn into good weeks and months.

With the passage of time, you accept that what happened will never make sense. And that’s okay. And it’s okay that the situation will never be okay. You notice that the world has kept turning and you’ve made it to the other side. You marvel at your own strength and the regenerative nature of hope.