Even in Hell Hope can Flower

In a very strange way this year I feel like I have gone through a lense, sort of like a tunnel revisiting the hospital room where I was cooped up for days prior to my son’s birth and the days after he was born. The isolation was unbearable. The disconnection of life frightens me. A hell that I did not want to enter. The pain of losing my son seems to be harder this year for some reason. I don’t know why. I don’t understand it. The tears that just keep on coming and I am alone. There’s no one there to hold me in their arms as I let go and cry. Can I cope? Will I cope? Can I get through this? Or is it the end like it was all those years ago.

I’m hurting. I’m screaming. I’m weaping silently away from the stares of strangers. I look back at that time, ironically even in hell hope can flower. I didn’t know it at the time but God was there as he is now with me carrying me in hos arms, blowing life into my disheartened spirit. I feel alone. I feel isolated. I feel like I am in a prison I do not want to be in. I miss my son. But noone sees the tears. Noone seems to understand. I am alone in no man’s land. Fighting. Irritable. Deflated. Hopeless. Life disintegrating. I’m not sure if I see there’s a point in this ridiculous thing called life.

I just hope that I can find hope again. Or that hope can find me for I am lost. Can a flower grow in hell?

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