It strikes me as quite strange how four little letters can add up to such a meaningful feeling. How one syllable has the possibility to change one’s life forever. It is something we all posses, but rarely look to in our times of immense pain. This little word is the key to my very existence; it is the only reason I am still breathing today. That word is hope.
Hope is defined in the dictionary as, “the feeling that what is wanted can be had, or that events will turn out for the best.” Hope can be given, taken, realized, or perceived. I could not in my wildest dreams count the times I have turned to this small word for assistance throughout my sixteen years of life.
Thinking back, the first time I ever turned my face fully from the shadows of despair and towards the warm sunlight of hope was a few months after the death of my father. At that time, I was only six years old. I had no faith or hope in my mother who, after my dad passed away, was slowly but surly transforming into an alcoholic. I was a cast away child, heading down a dead end road at one-hundred miles per hour.
After that disastrous day in 1999, my life was never the same. After being a victim of abuse and neglect, I had to rely on hope even more. Hope that tomorrow when the sunlight is barely showing over the horizon will be the day that my very existence returns to being bearable. Many days the sun rose and set, and my full belief in hope was getting me no where.
Just when I thought that it was the end, the last straw, the breaking point, things suddenly changed. My best friend reached his hand down to me, and lifted me off his basement floor where I’d been sobbing, and he told me “Please don’t give up, you were always the one who gave me hope, without you in my life I have no idea where I’d be.” That’s when I realized, you not only have to hope for yourself, but hope for the ones around you. Those who you care about, and those who have never turned their back on you. I believe in hope, and the real life miracles it creates.