One year

I've been thinking a lot lately about Hope's first year. I wish I had some new conclusions. I've been reluctant to try to write any of them, though, because they're about as illuminating as a Successories poster.

In my heart, this year has been incredibly profound, moving and personal. Trying to capture those feelings in words, though, ends up sounding like a Peace Corps slogan (Parenting: The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love); commercial for a clog remover (Plumbing the Depths of Infinite Love); or a blurb for a Lifetime move (A Forbidden Love, An Unspeakable Crime).

OK, I made that last one up. But it sounds cheesy enough.

The point is, it ain't easy. I guess this is the sort of stuff that keeps poets in business, if anything could. So here goes.

It's been a great year. It's been challenging, rewarding and transcendent. I look back, and I'm not sure I ever recognize that guy from a year ago (but he sure is handsome.) As much as I accept Hope's condition, I've come to realize it's not an instant process. It's still difficult. There's still residual tears of frustration, anger, questions I'm afraid to pose and moments of self-pity.

But above all, there's great love. I'm still humbled that I get to see that little girl every morning, hear her cry, make her smile and pat talc on her bummity-bum. I'm proud she's doing as much as she is. I'm wowed that spending hours knocking down blocks can be so rewarding. If the world has ever built a better tonic that her little smile, I haven't seen it.

Maybe it's that simple: She's got my heart. If she's happy, I'm happy. I guess that is love.