Like everyone else, I’ve hoped for things that didn’t work out. Too often, my vain hope not only proved wrong but something I, eventually, become glad I didn’t get my way. After things big and small settled back down and I could catch sight of what came with that unwelcome outcome I often realized gratitude.
Other times, I discovered new ways of being in the web of human relations. It was often through my view of things getting dashed that I caught sight of a new vista. Never did I throw everything away. No! What I had to toss was my ways of dealing with those ‘things’.
How I hoped things would work out became, repeatedly, dashed. Keeping many of those fragments and weaving each in with new ideas has always been essential. Now facing a new dashing I never expected I am caught up in letting go of seeing my son’s future accomplishments. Pain deeper than I had every given myself permission to contemplate dashed me.
It is more than my daughter which bars me from even furtive thoughts of giving up. Loving my son even knowing his suicide gives me deep empowering cause to live. He is still with his sister a core source of joy, even in my tears joy in him flows.
So, my hope is being transformed. Dashed to pieces is the hope I saw in him before his death. Being trialled I now await emergence of an unforeseen revolution in my life.