With the backdrop of life being what it is right now it is easy to forget that times will get better. It is easy to replace any sort of future orientation with one of gloom because as the minutes fade into hours and the days fade into weeks, we may all be left with a feeling that it will not improve any time soon.
We need hope right now. Hope can be powerful. Hope can be inspiring. Hope can lift one up and push someone to do great things, big and small.
I was watching the recent documentary about the Chicago Bulls and Michael Jordan talked about wanting to be able to provide hope to his teammates. He wanted to provide hope to the fans that the team was always in the game. That got me to thinking about hope and the first time that I saw it played out right in front of me.
For me, I learned about hope on May 29th, 2003.
My wife and I were standing in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Maine Medical Center crying uncontrollable tears. Three days earlier, on Memorial Day, my wife had gone into premature labor with a baby that was not due until the middle of September.
As we were working to get my wife into an ambulance for the trek to Portland, a doctor stopped us and said, “This is going to end poorly. I am sorry.” We were both devastated.
On the trip to Portland both of us thought about those words and how all of the dreams and thoughts we had of our first born were on the verge of not being a reality. Through tears and racing thoughts neither of us had any hope for what was to come. Then, as the doors of the ambulance opened and several staff members greeted us, one reached out and said, “You are in the right place. Everything is going to work out fine.” In an instance a measure of hope, the only thing we had, was restored.
The staff worked masterfully to stave off the delivery. For the next three days my wife accepted that she may be in the hospital for several months until she could deliver on her due date. Unfortunately, there were other plans.
Thomas was born at 1:17 AM on May 29th. He was born at 26 weeks. 14 weeks premature, Thomas was just over 2 lbs and under 14 inches long. He was tiny.
At first nothing was easy. He had a habit of pulling out his feeding tube. He pulled out his IV. He would stop breathing. He would turn shades of blue. Every milestone, both good and bad, were watched over and fretted upon by his Mom and I. As the minutes became hours and the days became weeks Thomas improved. Little by little, but there was improvement.
Over the course of that long, hot summer we spent every day with Thomas. We could see the gains that were made and we had encouragement from the nurses who cared for him like he was their own. They were quick to tell us of his accomplishments. They softly told us when there had been a setback.
Hope, in even the most lowly of circumstances, can be a powerful force.
Day after day he gained weight. He made advances. Our hope was no longer a wish to go home. Our hope was taking Thomas home and beginning our lives as a family.
That day came in the beginning of September. Ninety-two days since we had come in under the blare of a siren, we were leaving by checking to make sure that car seat was really secure. Ninety-two days is really not a long time, but when you are clinging to hope, it can be an eternity.
It was not always easy, but Thomas worked really hard. He started school and it was tough. He found topics that interested him. He found teachers that knew how to draw out his talents. He started to do well in school and he continued to progress. He found a life of his own with a personality to match. And he worked hard. Today, as he turns seventeen, he is on the verge of becoming an Eagle Scout.
All of that hope that his Mom and I had has worked out because we believed in him and, more importantly, he believed in himself.
Your hope can take on many faces. Your hope can change lives. Your hope can make a difference. Your hope can be all that you need. Don’t lose hope especially in these times.
Jonathan Crimmins can be reached at j_crimmins@hotmail.com
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