"Hope is the thing with feathers . . ."

[Tachyon 0]

“Hope”

Emily Dickinson

 

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all,

 

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

 

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

 

Personal Log Stardate 0502.21

Lt.jg. Dave Grey

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Well, the launch of Columbia was nice . . . but I find myself overshadowing everything with the most recent events of my life. I have never before been confronted with a crisis of this magnitude, and I find myself unsure how to deal with it. I’m not sure I can.

 

Jas’ suggestion that I involve myself in neurology was a good one, yet I wonder what good it will truly do. I am not a renowned neurologist, I’m sure that doctors more experienced than I would have found a cure to Tovanengitis already. I doubt that I could find one in time to save Harriet . . . but there’s always hope, isn’t there?

 

Part of me seems so determined, so driven that I’m nearly convinced that I will save her. This is a small part though, which is rather sad, and I wish it were bigger. I am mostly just overwhelmed by the consequences of Harriet’s debilitation, as is my entire family.

 

Yesterday Dr. Tratos took us through the Kübler-Ross model of grievance, which was depressing to say the least. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I think I am still in the denial stage, although not in denial of Harriet’s disease. That itself is real enough; I am in denial of myself. I deny my ability to help, I deny my own emotions in this matter because I must be strong for both myself and my sister.

 

 

I must be strong . . . we will get through this. Even in denial, I still have hope.