Hope used to mean a happy future. Or healthy kids. Or cross-my-fingers wishes. When I was a girl, hope was Grandma’s JC Penny’s catalog before Christmas with carefully circled themed bedspreads and Barbie clothes. It was a lost calico cat on a hot summer day that I knew if it would just come home again, all would be right with the world.
Hope was a wall-hook on which I hung imaginary wedding veils and baby blankets, like wishful thinking for my future. Never for my now…
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