I had a jar of hopes – a literal jar that I would fill with small pieces of paper with my hopes written down.
Today, the wind sent the jar flying and it smashed. All my hopes that I have not read since I wrote them down, scattered all over the floor. I have debated for a long time, ‘when would be the right time to open the jar and rediscover my hopes?’ Maybe fate saved me from coming up with an actual answer.
I hope CBT will be my cure (2011)
I hope we don’t stay long (2011)
I hope Grandad comes home today (2011)
I hope to be brave (2012)
I hope to get on a bus today (2012)
I hope to get my head around maths (2012)
I hope my first day at Franklin goes well (2012)
I hope to know what I want (2015)
I hope to travel (2016)
I hope to make all the changes that I need to make (2016)
And then there is this:
I stopped hoping. For some reason, at some point hoping didn’t seem to be enough. My Grandad is dying, my Nanna is dead. (No date)