There are four members of my family who I have never met and who I most likely will never even set eyes on: the birth parents of my children. We adopted our kids from Kazakhstan four years ago and I think almost daily about the people who created my kids, gave them safe haven before birth and brought them to a place to be cared for when they were no longer able to offer that safety. In their staggering loss they gave me the greatest gift of my life and they are part of our home, our dialogue with our kids about our family, and our hearts. We kept the names given to our kids by their birth moms (and maybe their birth dads?) so that our kids could always have a connection to the parents who were there at the very beginnings of their lives and who will forever be an essential part of our family.
- Daphne Grab
Follow the series of family posts.
Showing posts with label Daphne Grab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daphne Grab. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Hope: Daphne Grab
What's your definition of "hope?"
I think of hope as belief in good, as seeing the potential for the positive to prevail even in the face of great challenge. Hope can be a joyous fountain when something good happens: a cute guy asks you out, you get into the college of your choice or you, you know, sell a book. Then you get to look at the future as this place with a golden glow. That kind of hope is a glorious feeling.
Hope is a much more tenuous thing to hold onto in dark times. In my book Alive and Well in Prague, New York, the main character's dad has a terminal illness and is slowly losing his body to a disease. That is the kind of situation where it's the hardest to feel hope, because the future is set and it looks pretty barren.
But then that is the beauty of hope, that it can still be there, under the darkness. That's what my main character finds, much as I found when my own dad was terminally ill. Hope lies in the little moments, in being able to perform old rituals, have deeper conversations and find the preciousness in each moment you do have. Hope is in believing you can survive something that is crushing and still hold onto goodness in your life. And hope is the thing that makes those things survivable.
- Daphne Grab
View all posts labeled with hope.
I think of hope as belief in good, as seeing the potential for the positive to prevail even in the face of great challenge. Hope can be a joyous fountain when something good happens: a cute guy asks you out, you get into the college of your choice or you, you know, sell a book. Then you get to look at the future as this place with a golden glow. That kind of hope is a glorious feeling.
Hope is a much more tenuous thing to hold onto in dark times. In my book Alive and Well in Prague, New York, the main character's dad has a terminal illness and is slowly losing his body to a disease. That is the kind of situation where it's the hardest to feel hope, because the future is set and it looks pretty barren.
But then that is the beauty of hope, that it can still be there, under the darkness. That's what my main character finds, much as I found when my own dad was terminally ill. Hope lies in the little moments, in being able to perform old rituals, have deeper conversations and find the preciousness in each moment you do have. Hope is in believing you can survive something that is crushing and still hold onto goodness in your life. And hope is the thing that makes those things survivable.
- Daphne Grab
View all posts labeled with hope.
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