Hope is a fragile thing, easily squashed underneath fear, reality, heartache. There are days it is hard to find the sliver of light, the piece of hope, but it is always there. And I do everything I can to not only find it, but nurture it.
Currently finding myself in a darker space, today, after a couple of rough weeks – and today being my brother’s birthday, and his absence ever a squasher of hope – I am finding it hard to write about this topic today.
So rather than focusing on hope as a noun, I will focus on hope as a verb.
What I hope for Kiran has changed in a lot of ways as he has grown, as we have learned more about who he is and how he is developing. But some things will never change. My biggest hope for Kiran is that he will know he is loved. I hope he has a life filled with love and joy and kindness. I hope he never loses his ability to laugh easily and often. I hope he continues to grow and learn at his own pace and be the best Kiran he can possibly be.
I hope I can be the mother he needs, the caregiver he needs, the support he needs. I hope that even on my tiredest, hardest, most hope-squashing days, I can be who he needs me to be.