Even Now, I Choose Hope

There are many reasons people grieve. The loss of a job. A home burned to the ground. The end of a friendship or intimate relationship. The death of a beloved pet. Memory loss—your own, or someone you love.

A child gazes in wonder at a luminous butterfly, a symbol of hope and dreams in the twilight garden.

A serious health diagnosis that steals your abilities. The sudden destruction of

the world as you knew it—the loss of security, stability, and safety. The loss of a loved one’s

memory, even while they are still here.

Grief is everywhere right now.

And there is also the grief we carry for others—the way innocent people are being mistreated, injured, and yes, murdered in cold blood. I don’t know about you, but I grieve every day for the preschooler in the blue bunny hat—and for all the children like him who have been terrorized, separated from their families, locked in cages and jail cells, fed food they cannot eat, given water they cannot drink.

How can we not grieve for the innocents?

How will they be shaped by having their sense of safety shattered so early?

Little ones tear gassed. Two-year-olds handcuffed and arrested. It’s almost impossible to

comprehend.

And the grief doesn’t stop there. We see it in sweeping cuts to major government

agencies—losses that ripple far beyond the people who lost their jobs, touching the millions who depended on that aid. Research funding disappears. Programs vanish. My daughter’s cancer center has lost so many oncologists that they are turning away certain diagnoses. Nurse practitioners and nurses are carrying impossible loads, doing everything they can to fill the gaps. You have to wonder—where did all that stripped funding go? So much talk of fraud, yet no accountability. No answers. No one held responsible. It is hard to fathom how anyone can condone—or ignore—and worse, applaud the cruelty and callousness behind these choices. I grieve for the loss of the nation I once loved without

hesitation. I grieve the loss of pride I once felt in being an American. Now, I feel mostly sadness. Embarrassment. And yes… anger.

Grief touches everyone, sooner or later. But lately, it feels as though we are all swimming in

it—sometimes barely keeping our heads above water.

And still, I have not given up hope.

Maybe this moment is a wake-up call. Maybe we needed to be shaken into awareness. I hold on to the belief that change is possible—that what comes next can still bend toward compassion, toward justice, toward something better for all of us.

Because even in the deepest grief, hope is what keeps us moving forward.

Be well, stay strong,

Shirley