50 Word Non-Fiction: Hope – Batch 10

Every week, we publish the latest 50 Word Non-Fiction(this link will open in a new window) stories of Hope. Read this week's pieces below!

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My lungs are filled with the air that breathes life into the world around me. The past is not here, but I am not alone. I am never alone, as I am one of the earth's creatures, and for that, I am grateful. I have hope. I will be okay.

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I hope for a day I could be at ease. Be myself, fluttering like a butterfly, floating like a feather. With time I ease into my own skin and soul, embodying it more each day. I dance in the rapture of existence, absolutely nothing holding me back. I am light.

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The letter was written in capitals. I focused on key words – fall, hospital, suffering, trial period. Noted the different sender address – a care home. Rang the home straightaway. Mum spoke of not settling in, of her desire to return to her upstairs flat soon, knowing her hopes will be dashed.

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A heartbeat. The sign of life. When does it start? It’s too early, I think. The doctors say nothing. I stare at the white ceiling, fists clenched. My facemask keeps the desperation silently trapped deep within me. Then… a heartbeat. There you are. I breathe and our hearts beat.

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“Hope” is the thing with feathers - that perches in the soul. Emily Dickinson

could not have foreseen me, sometimes flying, sometimes falling; but always

with the hope that someone, somewhere would already have laid out the

feathers to catch me below.

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Thirty-three weeks into pregnancy, a grandad’s sudden death shocks. Excited anticipation deflates.

Thirty-eight days later, we welcome our son. Born into unknown events, a tiny beacon of hope amongst waves of grief.

A devoted young sister loses a grandad and gains a best friend. Love multiplies belonging, it bridges healing.

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A forgotten tongue revived. Aspiration born from loch, hill and heritage. Cluinnear Gàidhlig!

Stubble on stubble. Two colognes intermingle. Third decade, new desires, new loves.

Old roots feed new growth, and long suppressed identities flourish.

Pride from past. Hope form change. As Scotland progresses, I discover me.

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