The Afternoon Knows what the Morning Never Suspected

Dear D.T.,

I've been meaning to write this for some time. In fact, ever since you added the Frost quote above in your comments on a Caring Bridge post.

And now, here we are in the middle of January, and I've never taken the time to tell you how your comment affected me, and how much I appreciate your interest and support for my daughter. I can only hope that this email was meant, somehow, to land in your inbox today. That today is the day you're most ready to receive it.

I don't remember the exact circumstances that led you to include the quote, but I'm certain that it came when the pain of Abi's cancer diagnosis was as raw as it could be, and it seemed that every day brought new information that painted a darker and darker picture for her future.  I know the you have a daughter, and I think that you might truly understand this: The ground didn't simply shake under our feet when we received Abi's prognosis. No, the ground fell away completely. There was nothing hold onto. There was nothing to orient us. There was no hope cling to. The only certainty, according to our doctors, was the manner in which Abi's illness would eventually play out. There was simply nothing else to focus on, so that's what we focused on. There was no avoiding it.

We all have these moments, of despair I know. This is life.  

And the best we can hope for in these moments, I think, is for somebody to remind us, ever so gently, that our confidence in the future - good or bad -  is an illusion.  To remind us that we don't know what the afternoon will bring, and to offer some little encouragement that reminds us that's it's only morning, and that we can choose to hope. We can always choose hope.

That's exactly what you did for me. You helped, with that simple comment, to restore my courage to hope - even against the longest odds, and I remain profoundly grateful to you. 

Thank you for your kindness, your love and support for Abigail, and your continuing prayers.

Sincerely,

Chris