You reached out to me and here I am. I’m terribly sorry to hear of your family member’s illness. I truly, if you’ll pardon the term, hope that they are healing beautifully each and every day. My father died of a brain tumor when I was 25. This was after many years of financial struggles, long bouts of unemployment, and having to move under duress several times in a few short years. Then when things were finally looking up — he got a good job (hallelujah! we could breath again) — he collapsed. He never recovered. He left a brilliant book unwritten and a lifelong dream unfulfilled. He left a devoted wife and three kids who thought the world of him. He was only 59. He never got his so-called “happy ending.” After this ordeal almost seventeen years ago, I discovered something miraculous. I still had hope — a lot of it — after he was gone. Even though my father never got to walk me down the aisle or meet his grandchildren, I had (and have) hope. ….you find peace in the present moment, which I salute. However, I don’t equate this process with surrendering hope, but surrendering to the possible “futile what ifs of the future” for fear of missing out on the precious gems of present. These “what ifs” are not, in my mind, the same as hope. Hope is a frequency, an energy, a power to tap into. A lottery ticket is not hope. The energy it takes to get out of bed and go to the store to buy one is.
Through life experience I have learned that we can be both present — surrendering to the moment at hand in a graceful way — and be hopeful in the same time… I know this state is possible, if one desires it.
Wishing You All The Best,