50 Word Non-Fiction: Hope – Batch 4

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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Hope is the torch that guides me through my spiralling tunnels of darkness and anxiety. It is the flickering light that withstands the winds of fear and misery. It has a quiet voice, but it refuses to be silenced. Hope is the hand that lifts me from my knees.

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'Any news yet?' THEY chorused.

I knew what they meant... baby.

I lived a never ending cycle of hope then disappointment.

STOP!

Reset.

What do I hope? To be a mum or give birth to my own child.

The realisation, it's being a mum.

New hope.

New path.

New chapter.

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Hope... We all hope everyday. Myself I hope I put out the milk bottles. Or I hope I turned off the gas (usually halfway to the shops). Another frequent one when lying in bed I think: I hope I locked the back door. I have to get up and check. We have all been there.

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Hurtling towards forty, desperate juggernaut of dreams. Radiation manifested a brake, an eighteen-month adjournment. Interminable transience.

Bedside table creaking under ovulation kits, thermometers and old wives’ tales.

Pressure cancels out positivity. A monthly disappointment: my body’s P45.

Now the miracle is thirteen: hope turned reality, the womb’s jubilant, ever-grateful victory.

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Mum said, ‘When you see a white horse, hold your breath, make a wish, but don’t tell anyone what you hope for.’ (My hope was for world peace.)

Decades later she said the wish was just a ruse to keep me quiet. But I still hope for peace.

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Adjusting to a new normal, my daughter swallows her rare meds, injects without wincing and flushes the syringe.

She is stable.

Watching Putin’s war or an apocalypse movie, fear creeps in. Risk assessment is my husband’s job – but mine too.

I hope for world peace more than ever.