Hope is hard.
Hope used to be easy, as easy as breathing. I Kelly, was an optimist…maybe the last optimist left in Oklahoma.
Drought and no grass?
“It will rain soon, we will make it till fall” I’d tell my panicking Father in law.
Flooding and loosing calves to the high creek waters? It would stop raining soon,
“Just think of the hay this year” I’d say with a smile.
Hot summer days in triple digits?
“It’ll be winter soon enough..” I’d say on my way to pick blackberries for jam.
Ice storms would hit and cover every surface with inches of ice. I walked outside sliding down our back steps, the ice-covered grass crunching under my boots.
“It’s so stinking pretty!! Look at the trees and fences!!” I’d laugh rubbing my sore butt. And it was, it was breath taking…the sunshine hitting the ice-covered branches, and every barb on the wire glittering, beaming with light.
My house is surrounded with knock out roses, not one or two but dozens. From October to April they are bare and as my oldest son would say “Sketchy as Hell”. I wait each winter, walking past each day, for the first bud, the first leaf to appear. Most people would plant a couple, and use something with foliage to space in between. Not me, I never minded the wait because I knew come spring my yard would be covered in pink, red, and yellow blooms.
All the hard times in our marriage were answered the same way.
Broke and a baby on the way?
“It’s just a baby…” I’d say with a smile.
My husband leaving for eight weeks for his job, which meant me alone with four kids, a farm and Father in law who traveled weekly.
“Time will fly by…” I’d whisper to my husband with a kiss.
Our oldest son in a wreck.
“It could have been worse, he’s okay and he will never drive sleepy again.” I’d assure my mad husband.
When his grandpa died, and his heart was broken…my heart was crushed because I LOVED that man, more than any words can ever describe, I LOVED him. He made me the ‘tough I can do anything a man can do farm hand’ I was. He accepted me as family and LOVED me as his. I miss him every time I check a fence, doctor a calf, or eat a pecan. But for my husband I sat my grief aside and told him…
“He loved you, and was so proud of you. You will see him again.” I hugged him and held him as he cried. Rocking him as I would Lou.
I had hope, and an optimism which always whispered “Dark will become light, wrong will be right, and everything is gonna be okay.”
Of all the things my husband’s affair took from me…my self confidence, my sanity, my trust, my heart, my happy…I miss my optimism the most.
Hope is hard.