And What of Hope?

Monday I wake to the sound of rain hitting the roof. I stay in bed for a moment, the familiar sound a comfort like my daughters’ laughter or my mother’s voice. The cats are nestled near my feet, purring, like guitar strums to the rain’s drum. Emerson slumbers still, having made her way into my bed with her little girl nightmares and hair that smells of flowers. I wish to remain smelling her hair, and listening to the rain, but there are lunches to make, kisses to give, books to write. I get up and in the dark, I reach for my robe, padding across the hallway to wake Ella, the rain keeping time with the beating of my heart. The cats follow. They know of the morning and that it must be met.

After I usher my eldest out into that drumming rain and darkness I sit in the brown leather chair next to the black table piled high with books. I sip my coffee and watch the light change from black to grey. I think of my children, of the grocery list, of the class later at the gym, of Bliss, my new character who feels like a sister already. I think, is this all there will be? The children and my work and my passions? Should it be enough? Is it wrong, still, after all that’s passed, to wish for a partner to hold hands with as the light changes? Dare I hope?

I haven’t allowed hope to exist for some time now. I put myself in the drawer where I cannot be hurt. I’ve just lived in the moment with gratitude, with purpose, for the girls and my work and the friends who show up. An ease, a peace, has settled in that space between my shoulder blades.

And what of hope, I wonder then. How, in the darkness of an autumn morning, do we know that daylight will come again? We cannot see or feel the world in its continuous tilt towards the sun, yet we’re moving towards it just the same. Hope and faith and everything that falls between is in our DNA, in our souls. We are meant to live knowing that at any moment something wondrous could happen.

I dismiss the thoughts and wake Emerson, feeding her eggs and toast and combing her hair before we head out into the rain. Regardless of what is to come or not come, this is now and now is her blue eyes staring at me from the back seat as she chatters. And then we arrive and she spills out of the car and heads across the playground. I watch her, this gift from God, this keeper of my heart.

Thursday comes. I drive to the outlet mall in the slanting rain in my ever hopeful search for a that pair of jeans that fits just right. So far it is elusive, but still I hope.

I’m driving home with several pairs of jeans in the bag, untried. I will try them on at home and return them, like I usually do, too disheartened to ever try them on under the unforgiving lights of a dressing room. My windshield wipers are on high, competing with the relentless rain for my sight. I turn onto Snoqualmie Parkway from the freeway. I see a patch of blue sky. I drive another mile down the road and then, right there, the clouds part and the sun, oh, how it shines. Brighter than I’ve ever seen. The leaves, scarlet and orange and green flutter and sing in the breeze. And my breath catches at this extraordinary beauty on an ordinary day. Is it God, reminding me that hope remains even in the darkest of days?

I don’t know, of course. All I know is that for one transcendent, perfect moment my heart fluttered and soared with hope. Surely if there is beauty such as this, love will come my way?

Regardless, this sweet world, oh, how it sparkles. How happy I am to be here for the rides around the sun.