Almost a Year

I can't quite put into words what I am feeling these past few weeks.

A lot of anxiety, fear, panic, tears. But also, always, moments of joy and happiness too. And hope. Harry taught me how to always live in hope.

When Harry was sick, I promised him I would live in hope, hope that he was physically healed and that he had beat his cancer, until we knew otherwise, that is, until he drew his very last breathe. I promised him that I would fight for him, and never give up on him, until he drew his last breathe.

So that is what we did. Until his very last breathe. We were full of hope, right up until that very last moment.

That is one of the gifts of going through an experience like this with your child. You're pushed to the limits of your experiences. Each experience you have with a critically ill child is pushed to the maximum - maximum joy, love, hope, happiness. But also maximum grief, sorrow, pain.

One of the things that gets me throught the pain is remembering what it felt like to live so presently and daily and fully in love and joy and hope. It is a gift to have experienced those emotions so fully and deeply and completely.

As we wade through these last few days, far far too fast approaching the first anniversary of Harry's Angel Day, I try to reach back to that feeling of hope and take that feeling of hope with me forward into the future.

It is hard to feel safe enough to have hope for the future, when you first hand know that bad things do indeed happen to good, unsuspecting people. But the alternative? To live in fear and pessimism of all the things that *could* go wrong.

I know that to do that fails to honour Harry and the promises I made to him.

So we trudge on in hope. Hope that our hearts will find healing and true moments of joy will grace our lives again.

Love,
Cynthia