Hope is a pretty powerful thing when you think about it. Some people go through their whole lives on hope. A hope to get out, a hope to things will get better, a hope just to be happy: any hope can give a person the will to live. That's what mom said, at least.
You know, Hope, you've got an awful lot to live up to," mom said, coming to join me on my bed.
"I do?" I was confused. "Why?"
"Well, Hope Randle, I'll tell you why. It's because of your name." I gave her another confused look; I was only ten and didn't really understand what she possibly could have meant. So, she continued. " Well, sweetheart, sometimes life can deal a person a real bad hand, and that person can think they have no way out. Sometimes, all that person can do is hope things will get better. If a person has a hope, they have something to live for, and that's why you're so special to me. The world needs more hope. Hope guides you, comforts you, and gives you the will to go on: that's what you are. Remember that for me. Remember, no matter how bad things get, there's always hope. There's always hope," she repeated as she tucked me in. She sat there for a while, gently stroking my hair. She kissed me on the forehead and said, "You give me a reason to live, Hope. I love you." Then, she walked out of my room and went to kiss Steve goodnight.
The next morning, Steve woke up. He looked scared. I didn't even have time to get shoes on as he pulled me out of bed, downstairs and into dad's car. We went to the hospital. Someone robbed the corner store and pulled a gun-Mom got shot as she tried to leave. Dad wouldn't even look at us as the doctor walked away. Steve put his arm around me and whispered, "Mommy's with the angels, now."
I blinked back tears as I resumed staring at the stars once more. I may not have known what she meant when I was ten, but I sure do now.