I’ve always had hope, not wishes or desires, but hallelujah hope. The kind that thrusts you out of bed in the morning. Since my earliest years, hope has been my companion. She introduced us. At first, she loaned me hers until I found my own. When I did, it became our shared love language and the expectant eyes through which we viewed the world. That’s why it was ok when she died. I wasn’t ready (is anyone?) Death showed up breathless and raring to go like it was late for a very important date. Feeling sick on Sunday; gone on Friday. Not necessarily a surprise. She was sick: leukemia.