What was delivered to me drop by painful drop in that time, was the notion of staying. Of not hoping for a different moment than the one I was in—not because I found the moment acceptable, but because fighting it became futile. Fighting it made me suffer. Immensely.
Hope is at first, I think, childish. In the best way, of course. We have faith and hope because life is still so new. Our brains haven't been written over with ink so many times they are unclear. Every moment is fresh; there is still magic in the smallest things: a cookie, swimming, flowers, Christmas Eve.