Suffering produces endurance,’ he reads. ‘And endurance produces character and character produces hope.’ I feel his hand gently on my back. ‘And hope does not put us to shame.
And if you face every day with hope, then you’ve already won,’ Mickey says. Hope. Like a bird, it flies too high above me. ‘What if I don’t know what to hope for any more?’ I ask quietly. Mickey takes my hand in hers. ‘Perhaps hope on its own is enough.
You can love someone deeply, but somehow not always do the right thing by them. People have flaws. We get so much wrong. Maybe if you try to understand him as a human being with faults then you can move forward.
