It all comes down to hope.

Over the years, people who have known me and known Cora's story have in various ways complimented my "strength."

I used to hate it.  Mostly because at first I was hanging on by my fingernails and felt a hair's breadth away from utterly falling apart.  It was my faith that got me through that.  My faith in a Savior who was holding me up so I wouldn't fall.   His strength was the reason I was standing.

That's still mostly true.  But, I've regained my equilibrium so to speak.  I can go about my day, dealing with things as they come without really needing supplication from the higher power.  I guess I have become stronger, in a way.  My hope has become stronger.

It is a belief in my church that parents will be reunited with children lost, from the state that they left and we will be able to finish raising them.  So I can't help but picture getting this bitty baby back, and experiencing all that I missed out on.

I hope for that.  A hope so strong it keeps breath in my lungs and my heart beating.

I cannot wait until that day.  It'll be glorious beyond belief.