Life at the Border

Ilive on the narrow border between Hope and Despair. Each place has its own struggles, its own risks. I spend my days moving between them.

To my right, there’s Hope. An additional perek of Tehillim. Another round of the Prayer Pact. Hope is the rented storage room filled with 12 years of linens, pots, multiple sets of dishes, and oh so many gorgeous vases — beautiful things waiting for a future home. Hope has me picturing what kind of wife I’d like to be, the kind of mother I dream of becoming.

Hope lifts me up. It gives me a reason to keep choosing life, to continue planning for a different future. A future with a beautiful baby crawling around in a timeless knitted two-piece.

I’d picked it up once while walking through the children’s section at Zara Home. I always do, just perusing, not intending to buy anything. But that perfect two-piece, beige knit caught my eye: soft, timeless, 3–6 months, with tiny wooden buttons and a delicate bow. I picked it up. I smiled. A minute later, I was texting my sister: “I’m crazy if I buy this, right?”