H(old) O(nto) P(ositive) E(xpectations)

“Where there’s hope, there’s life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again.”

This week has been a test of wills. Strength. Physical. Mental. Emotional. I’ve been through it all. Some I’ve “won.” Some I’ve simply given into. Broken down. But, most of the time, “where there’s a will, I’ve found a way.” In a week of physical challenges, I pushed myself to the max. Surpassed my goals. I believed my physical struggle paralleled Lucy’s pain. Her suffering. If she could battle on, so could I. I maxed out my times on the treadmill. I held a plank for 11 minutes and 50 seconds, all the while praying for Lucy’s recovery. Trembling, aching, I willed myself on. If I could do it, she could do it. Crazy? Maybe. But hopefully, she’s got my fighting spirit. Two years ago I was told I’d never be able to run. Never do a sit-up. Much less hold a plank for nearly 12 minutes. I was using a walker. Well, I showed them. Now it’s Lucy’s turn to show us.

While I H(old) O(nto) P(ositive) E(xpectations), I’m fighting a new battle. The Angels of Hope vs. the Demons of despair. I am cheering for the Angels. I believe their perseverance and positivity will beat the Demons. But in the silence, I slip. When the tears fall, I lose my way. The Demons tug and pull, struggling to bring me down. Take away the hope. But I will myself back. I won’t give up. Not on myself. Or my precious pup.

Hope is a funny thing. We use the word so casually. We hope to win the lottery. We hope our kids will behave. We hope it does or doesn’t rain. But there’s that other hope. That hope that we hold onto with all our might. That’s the hope I’m talking about. The Angel of Hope. The one that makes me believe. Believe there are possibilities. Even when the odds are against me. It’s the candle that flickers. Down to the wick. Almost darkness. And then. A flash of light. A burst of flame. Hope. No one gave me hope. They just told me no. NEVER. You will NEVER run again. You will NEVER be the same. You will NEVER be able to do “this.” You will NEVER be able to do “that.” At one time I believed them. I thought I’d never walk upright. Well, I showed them. I’m here now. Walking. Running. Lifting. LIVING. Beating their odds. It was slow. Painful. And took a lot of patience. I imagine it’s the same for Lucy right now. Slow. And horribly painful. But I hold onto HOPE. Believe. It is the only path to healing and happiness. Until the road brings us back home. Together.