Who Holds the Hope?

During the first awful years of my chronic pain condition, when every day was a desperate battle to stay a few paces ahead of the pain, and all my doctors and specialists and healers were helpless to make it go away -- one of the greatest casualties was hope. It left me and soon, I no longer sought it. In fact, it became easier to be hopeless because then I never imagined getting better and therefore didn't have to suffer the inevitable disappointment of failure.

My husband, Richard, became the keeper of hope for both of us. He wasn't faking it. As an engineer and scientist, he truly believed that, since no one could discern the cause of my pain, it could disappear as easily as it appeared. The trick was to keep trying different approaches.

I came to count on Richard to cast his net of hope over me on the dark days. It would never penetrate too deeply, but it was calming to hear his voice speak of a future without pain. His certainty became my refuge.


“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all." Emily Dickinson