Friday, September 04, 2009


OK, those Gutsy Gals over at (in)courage are asking for posts about Hope. So here goes.

Hope to me is a lot of things. It is having a president from my home county (much less from my state!) who is all about courage and hope. It is interesting to hear how the Kennedy family viewed Obama as having the same effect as JFK did 50 years ago. It is wonderful to hear people who took a moment from their lives in November and/or January and blogged about how they again felt hope.

(But you did not come here to read about how I am a bleeding heart pinko Cook County Democrat who does politics via the Chicago Way. I digress. Sorry.)

Hope for me is blonde. And eight-and-a-half. And in third grade. Yes, this is my child.

Bereaved parents walk among you. We do not have a mark on our foreheads indicating that we are bereaved parents; we usually never even mention this fact. But we all carry this fact in our hearts and souls – the fact that bad things happen to little children.

I myself have been pregnant 4 times. I have suffered one medically uneventful miscarriage, one adverse diagnosis pregnancy with fetal surgery, 6 amnios and a delivery at 29 weeks. He lived 35 minutes. My third pregnancy resulted in my daughter that I mention above. My fourth pregnancy ended in a miscarriage that nearly cost me my life. I was never so happy to turn 32 in my life (it happened the week before).

That above paragraph is something I can recite emotionless to anyone who asks. It’s the medical version; the cliff notes. I can elaborate, usually without incident, when asked. Other times, not so much. People tell me that I really have it together on this topic. I have it no more or less together than anyone else; but I do have hope.

I am lucky. One of my kids made it so I can be with her. She is hope personified, in Polly Pockets and Pokemon, in chocolate and Hannah Montana. She reminds me and my husband daily why we bother with this journey called life. She reminds us that our proper perspective is not on promotions or paychecks, it’s on learning multiplication tables and the names of all the presidents, not just the two (technically, four, I know, but work with me on this) from Illinois. She reminds us to enjoy life in all of its facets and not just on those we enjoy or are comfortable with. Without this kid, I would never be a Brownies leader or the Market Day mom for the school. I certainly would not know what a zhu zhu pet is or find it a very funny toy that is hypoallergenic!

So, Hope, thy name is Renee. Which means reborn. Which is what we were after she arrived, after so much heartache and pain.

Errata: For the courage post, I wrote about my collegiate parking pass. It was not red this year, nor was it shaped like the state of Illinois. This year it’s green and a boring rectangle. (They said they needed the rectangle to put the swipe stripe on a flat edge. Hello? Illinois’ border with Indiana is also a flat edge for a while. Get creative, people!)

1 comment:

Tricia said...

Hope is personified for me in my children on any given day, though not for the same reason. Such a sweet way to look at hope. May God bless you abundantly as you view life through her eyes. :)