“Hope” is the thing with feathers 

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Despite the fact that I opened this blog post with a poem, I've never been one for poetry. I even switched my college degree away from English when I realized how many 400-level poetry classes I would have to take to graduate. I much prefer when people are more plainly spoken, and often times when we would dissect the meaning of a poem in class, I thought people were clearly just making stuff up. Everything seemed so open to interpretation or hidden meetings and it was too abstract for me. 

That being said, I still find the odd poem that speaks to me. Usually they are the more popular ones because as mentioned above my appetite for poetry is not that deep, and "Hope" Is The Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson falls into this category. I've always liked her message that hope springs eternal in our chests, but I like this poem even more now for its embodiment of hope as a bird. 

As with poetry, I never used to be overly fond of birds, but now I have an attachment to them in regard to Hailey. The first time I ever heard the hymn "His Eye Is On the Sparrow," I fell in love with it. I think I was 13. And all these years later, when my daughter got sick, it was one of the songs I'd often play for her, or sing to her myself, in the hope of bringing her comfort. I told her she was one of God's little sparrows. 

On Christmas Eve of last year, as my husband and I had just received news of how dire Hailey's case was and sat alone in the doo-wop, diner-styled hospital cafeteria trying to decide on a plan of care for her, we both heard "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" playing from some still-unknown source. My husband and I had teared up --- we'd each felt it was a sign that God was with us in that awful moment. 

But today is October 18, 2017.  Exactly one year ago today, I was first rushing my then six-week old daughter into the hospital because she'd thrown up a funny color. I remember the feeling of unease I had, driving through the dark myself while my husband remained at home with our son. I was worried...the night felt particularly ominous and I remember telling myself not to overreact. I tried to remain calm.

As our days in the hospital turned into weeks and then months, and the symptoms piled up, I fought to maintain hope for my daughter. There were days when doing so felt utterly daunting. I had to search hard for any little positive bit of news to sustain me. 

*

After Hailey passed away, there was one thing people would say to me that scared the hell out of me. "A piece of your heart will always be missing," they would acknowledge. I understood the positive intention behind the words and didn't blame the people who offered them for the terror they caused me. Because I wanted to believe that my husband, son and I could be okay without Hailey here with us on Earth. I wanted to believe that we could move forward. That we still stood some hope of being a happy family --- just one with a very special angel looking over us from Heaven. But I didn't know. I couldn't be sure. Thinking that a piece of my heart would always be missing made me feel like I would never be whole again. It made me feel panicky. 

I am here to say those folks were not wrong. A piece of my heart will always be with Hailey. I won't ever be the same as before I lost her. She has been gone for almost 10 months and while I can go two or three weeks in a row and be fine, then I will wake up for a day or two in a row and just feel so weepy and heartbroken for my sweet girl, and for us. 

But I don't see myself as permanently broken, as I once feared I would be. Because I fought, alongside my husband, to maintain hope for our future as a family. I sit here, 34-weeks pregnant with Hailey's little sister in my belly. Something I couldn't fathom a year ago. I'd planned to be finished having children after Hailey was born --- so this baby is a miracle that wouldn't exist if not for her big sister. And I wonder how I will feel when I finally hold this baby in my arms --- and how much of a mess I might be all over again for having lost Hailey. But I will embrace that moment when it comes and find my way through as I have with everything else. With faith and the loving support of so many family and friends. 

It is a brave thing to hope. Audacious even, as President Obama once said. 

We cannot know what tomorrow brings. We can fear the negative possibilities and threats of failure that tend to run rampant in a mother's worrying heart, or we can acknowledge the equal opportunity for beauty in all its forms...the best ones being those we often never even could have imagined for ourselves. I choose hope. For myself, and for all those whom I love and know are facing their own struggles. 

With love and a grateful heart.