HOPE

Sissy wrote this essay for school. It is very profound and I am proud of her. Although she touches on some very sensitive issues, these are HER words and life as SHE sees it...

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Hope

What’s in a word? Something deeper than a knowing, an understanding of fate. It’s a blind faith in oneself or the world. And reason to believe that with no proof, no jurisdiction, life will move on, time will heal, and tomorrow will magically be better. A belief is an idea taken as truth. A persona of something deeper than death, deeper than grace and redemption. My belief surpasses the very meaning of the word; it surpasses the foundation of my life and my world. It defines me to the essence of my existence. It explains why I continue moving, breathing and keeping up. I believe in hope.

Starting with my older sister, Kaitlin Hope, otherwise known as Katie. A brilliant, bold and bright little girl. The only seven-year-old brave enough, smart enough to impact absolutely everyone she came into contact with. The only seven-year-old whose eyes and smile were light and open enough to draw attention away from her fragilities and bald head. Katie was not about to let cancer rob her of the joy that she lived and gave to others daily. She was born an angel, filled with compassion, laughter and love. And she continued her legacy. She passed away as the only seven-year-old who knew exactly how to be a sister, daughter and friend.

“Hope” started forming a pattern in my life. And only recently have I noticed it. Kindergarten brought the introduction of Jonah into my life. Jonah brought grace to my clumsiness and an understanding of my circumstance. He showed a simple joy that I needed at the time. He was there for me in a way no hired specialist with their fake empathy and quasi smiles could be. Years passed, and I grew accustomed to Jonah’s striking ability to lift a sour mood. I took for granted the kindness he showed me. The forgiveness he gave. I never thought of how bonded we were. How, despite everything falling around me, I could take refuge in the fact that he wouldn’t leave. But one stormy August day my world fell for the second time in my short dreary lifetime. I remember listening to the speech his brother gave, picturing them lowering Jonah’s body into the ground. “For a moment all hope is gone.” An anvil balances itself on my shoulder. “But it's looking past that moment; to the hope Jonah left us with. The hope he'd given each and every one of us. The same hope we need now to move on.” I did as he said. Looking past the helplessness, trying wholeheartedly to regain the hope Jonah had given me. And I did. A wary, broken hope. But a hope, nonetheless.

Years passed, and the arrival of another angel struck understanding between the diverse members of my family. A beautiful, gleaming baby girl. Sophia Hope, the daughter of my loving and sweet cousin Erica and her equally sincere husband Josh. Being diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis hasn’t dampened the love Sophia’s family shows openly for her. Nor has it afflicted the pride I, along with the rest of our family, have in this beautiful and courageous little girl. I remember hearing of how small Sophia was when born, and how short the estimated life span given by doctors had upset her mother. But what I remember, above anything, is my cousin’s will to persevere, the will to fight for the health of her precious baby girl. In time Erica’s hope grew, along with her child. Now, another year or so later, nothing could possibly hinder the almost two-year-old Sophia Hope from her playing. To the naked eye, Sophia seems perfectly healthy, happy and at ease. But to the trained eye, the eyes who know her weaknesses, Sophia looks nothing less than a miracle.

I’ve been asked of my belief in politics, in religion and other pointless matters. I’ve been asked to prove myself. To prove the idealism of my beliefs and how they stand so much taller than others. I’ve been asked why I believe so deeply in God, and the abilities of mankind to finally get back to good. But not once have I been asked what I believe. Not without a specific demeanor attached. Not once have I been approached with the opportunity to express such a broad range of thoughts and notions. And after long, endless days and nights of searching, I’ve found what I believe. Not because I’ve been given evidence of its existence, or a file or formula of what it is and how it’s made. Not just because I’ve seen it, lived it, kept it all these years. I believe in hope, not because I want to, but because I have to. Because I need hope, we all need hope. Just to survive.

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