Hope

When I was a child, I had so much hope. I hoped for lighter days, less noise and for the people around me to love each other. I hoped not to see the things I saw or hear the things I heard.

When I was older, I hoped for those days to last forever. Oh, how I loved those carefree days. I hoped for even more laughter, longer nights, one more day of the weekend and holidays that lasted forever with my friends.

When I became a mother for the first time, all I hoped for was peace. A peaceful life for me and her. I hoped for protection. I hoped and I prayed and eventually I found a way, or it found its way to me, I’m not sure.

Even in my darkest hours, there is always hope.

When I became a wife for the first time, I had more hope than ever. I hoped for this to be my happy ever after, to beat the odds. I hoped for as much time as possible. I knew it wouldn’t be forever, but I had hope we would get to begin to grow old together.

When I became a mother for the second time, I hoped that the drugs would work, that our chances were strong, that this was our time. And when they did work, I hoped to keep those babies inside me, that was all I hoped for. Keep cooking those babies. When the time came for them to arrive in the world, I was so scared, all I hoped for was to live to see them grow.

Of course I did, but he didn’t.

When I became a widow, I lost all hope for a long time. Life became hard; I became hard. All I wished for was for life to move as quickly as possible. ‘Let me live to see my children grow and when they don’t need me anymore, just let me die so I can go to him.’

For the longest time, that was my hope.

But time moved on. I healed. Though the scars still showed, my hopes changed to happier, clearer ones.

Now I have become a wife for the second time. Our marriage brings me hope every single day. For more lightness, more laughter, more love – for ourselves, our children and for what lies around us. We share our hopes and dreams, sometimes they’re the same, sometimes they’re not, but we rally alongside each other to make those dreams a reality. I’m his biggest cheerleader and he is mine.

And it is beautiful. So, so beautiful that it sometimes hurts.

We both have the scars from previous wounds. We both deal with the demons haunting us, swirling around, never quite leaving us be. We’ve both been broken, shattered into pieces, glued back together, not quite in the right place and a little bit jagged, but showing up every day wanting the best for each other and our family. It’s not always easy but it’s certainly not always hard. We love hard, work hard and we are happy and hopeful together, as life hurtles along at the speed of light.

Oh, how I wish I could now slow down time.

And what do I hope for now?

I hope to watch my loved ones grow into the beautiful human beings that they are already becoming. I hope to live until I am old, so old that the lines in my face will show all the life that I have lived. I hope that my husband will be by my side as the children grow into adults and move off to live their lives. Not too far from me, I hope. I hope that we spend our days together doing the simplest but most wonderous things together.

But most of all, I hope to leave this world before any of them leave before me. I do not want to walk the earth having had to say goodbye to any of them and still be here.

I hope that in the end, when life is over for me and I take my last breath, I hope that I’ll be content. Content with how my life ebbed and flowed, fully satisfied that I was a good mother, a good wife, not perfect, but perfect enough for them. For them to look back at the life we shared and think, ‘I know how much she loved me, I know how much she cared’. For them to look back at that life and be content with it too.

I hope that they will understand how much I lived for them, that they gave me life and I hope beyond all hope that they will forever feel comfort in that knowledge. That I lived for them and that’s what kept me going.

And I’ll look back on life and say... I did it.

We did it.

And it was ok.

More than ok.

It was beautiful.

So bloody beautiful.

In the end I hope that I’ll be holding my husband’s hand and the hands of my children, and I’ll be surrounded by their love. Because that’s all that matters in the end.

Love.

I’ll touch their faces and tell them they exceeded all my hopes and dreams, just like I knew they would. They will know that I treasured every single moment of being part of their lives and that now, in the hindsight that age has given me, my only wish was that I lived in the moment more instead of constantly hoping that I could make time stand still, constantly worrying, as life went by just a little too fast.

And they will tell me they love me, they’ll kiss my head and hold my hands until it’s time for me to leave, forever united in the knowledge of how much I loved them, how hard I loved each and every one of them.

And they’ll be ok.

That’s my hope.