I've often wondered where hope comes from. Is it inherent in our being? How do we hold onto it? When it's lost, where has it gone?

I wish there was a Red Cross for hope. When you have extra hope, you could donate some. When you have lost all hope, you can become a recipient. Just imagine the possibilities in both donating and receiving! All types are welcome; after all hope is hope, right?

I believe hope is essential to happiness. Conversely, the lack of hope leads to despair and depression. All we know is where we've been; tomorrow holds no promises, so we cling to hope. What happens when our past was so heinous and horrible that we can't even embrace today, and tomorrow sounds like a non-negotiable life-sentence?

Me? Been there. Done that. Never wanna find my way back to that place ever again.

The year was 1990. The place-our Brookline apartment balcony that led to a concrete driveway 6 floors below. It led to the way out of my persistent, palpable pain.. I believed with certainty that my husband and 3 boys would be better off without me.

If my own mother couldn't love ME, how could I learn to love my own children?

But what about my husband, Will? He tried. Oh, Lord he tried. He did everything he possibly could to make things okay for me. He nurtured me, held me when I crumbled, dried my tears. If I had any integrity left in me I had to let him know I loved him with everything I had. But I had run out. The well of hope that sustained me throughout my past abuse had run dry.

Our beautiful children deserved so much more. They deserved to be loved by a mother who knew what love is. I believed it was best to jump so my body would then match my soul; the brilliant wreckage of a life unloved and shattered. My life would end mid-flight, a mission abandoned because the destination was a place called "pain." My sweet Will could surely find a new love, one who wasn't a crushed and withered woman. One whose soul knew the meaning of worth and unconditional love. I was illiterate in those areas; they weren't a subject offered in college or even in my own life.

I called my sweet Will to let him know my hope wasn't lost- it was gone. I wanted nothing more than to stop existing, breathing, and especially, hurting.

With an unexpected calm, he asked one last favor: I was to call Marilyn, my therapist. He begged me to say goodbye to her because she had been so kind and caring. She had tried to save me and I needed to acknowledge that.

I stepped down from the balcony and called Marilyn. I told her I was going to end my deep, unrelenting torment. Her words stunned me. Captivating, yet honest, she simply said, "You cannot jump. You are already at the bottom. Your mother has taken so much from you; you cannot allow her to take your life, too. Your children and husband love you more than you know. The only place left for you is up."

I realized that balcony offered only an end to the promises before me. While my own mother only knew how to abuse me and completely lacked love, empathy and compassion, my children deserved so much more than that. They deserved the childhood I was denied. Such clarity flooded my entire being; they were born to be loved, and to end my life would sentence them to a life of pain and abandonment.

That day I said goodbye.

I said goodbye to all the things that I lacked. I let go of all the things that "were supposed to be," yet weren't. I said goodbye to a mother and the family she threatened with abandonment if they acknowledged my existence. She and her family were all woven from the same cloth that bound and almost choked me to death.

False hope... It WAS there all along. It was 6 stories below the balcony, offering a way out of my pain. It was ready and willing to make me the monster who shattered my husband's heart, and wiped out our children's happy future. It offered a life sentence for my husband and children while offering me an end to my life sentence of pain.

I realized that the balcony offered nothing but a dead end- to joy, memories to be made, and a lifetime to be lived to the fullest- not ended so prematurely. That same balcony that offered an end to my being now offered a new view I chose to take.

From that same 5th floor balcony I saw people walking along both sides of Beacon Street. I noticed one man using crutches to substitute for the leg he was missing; still he hammered on. He hobbled with determination; I realized he had purpose. And I did too.

I still do.

It was then that I embraced the ebb and flow of life. Not all walking down that street were necessarily happy, but they were WALKING! Some face internal challenges while others face physical challenges, yet they still continued onward.

Likely they will never know that my watching them walk past gave me a sense of hopefulness. That man who struggled to make his way, despite obvious challenge, MADE HIS WAY!

And so should I.

That was the day in my life when hopelessness turned to hopefulness. Since then I have faltered and wandered, looking to find direction- but always I held a place in my heart for that man who found his way despite the loss of his leg.

I have 2 legs; and I use them daily to walk away from that which does not serve to better me or my family. I use them to take me to wherever I can make a difference for one, or many. More than anything, when I see someone with physical challenges, I honor that man on Beacon Street. You know, that man who taught me that perseverance IS HOPE!

No matter how or where you walk, let your journey make a difference. Had I abandoned my journey, I'd not be here to share how hope found me. Just keep on walking. It will find you, too.

That's what hope does.