all hope is lost
sounds so dramatic
we reserve the phrase for heartbroken romantics, upturned hand resting on furrowed brow.
no, losing hope is a more absent-minded kind of thing.
true, there are moments when hope flies dramatically from hands-clutching-hands
when the diagnosis falls from the doctor’s mouth, quiet, and heavy.
when the nurse hands you a plastic baggie, wedding ring and watch inside.
but more often, hope just kind of slips away, unnoticed
as cynicism begins to make more and more sense, disguising itself as realism,
you loosen your hold on hope
and eventually misplace it
among the spare papers and receipts, the textbooks and dirty laundry
it just kind of slips away, unnoticed.
unnoticed, until that day when a sadness
or a memory, or a loss, or a failure
monumental or miniscule
finally breaks your back
and that handy cynicism only helps your back crumple in on itself
and so you remember that sometimes hope used to help
used to hold you up under the weight
used to make your blood pump with conviction through your veins, determined to keep living, and live well
and you reach out for hope, wondering why it’s not in your hand anymore
and it’s not there. your hand comes back empty, clutching air.
all your hope is lost.
your cynicism won’t help you now
and with hands empty and back broken
your fragile fingers start searching, slowly but with urgency
and the funny thing about hope
is that just ‘cause you lose it doesn’t mean it’s gone
it’s right where you left it, waiting, hoping you find it, hoping you find hope.
unlike joy, which bubbles up effervescently
unlike love, which makes itself known through touch
unlike peace, which settles down deep in the gut
unlike faith, which wiggles its way into you and fills your lungs with new air
hope is something steely, and solid, resilient.
it is not easily killed, indeed, it fights the fiercest fight to remain alive.
hope is something that exists even when you can’t see it
even when your hand has forgotten what it feels like to hold it.
it exists. and its patience is infinite.
it awaits your searching fingers,
fragile though they may be.
R.E.B.
o
