quote by Jane Hirshfield, American poet and essayist

Happy Monday! I was in the mountains a week ago at my annual writers’ workshop, Table Rock Writers Workshop, reconnecting with friends who are more like family, and enjoying the absolutely lovely fall weather. The cooler temps followed me home and I’m loving it. I hope your week is off to a great start and September arrived with all the pumpkin spice you can handle.

I’m opening my window this week with a poem by American poet and essayist, Jane Hirshfield. I mentioned a couple weeks ago I attended a reading by three Charlotte-area poets–Jane wasn’t one of them–but one poet, Irene Blair Honeycutt quoted Hirshfield, ‘Hope is the hardest love we carry.’ That evening the quote settled in my heart, but the next morning and later that week, it took on even deeper meaning. But first, the poem.

Hope and Love by Jane Hirshfield

All winter/the blue heron/slept among the horses./ I do not know/the custom of herons,/do not know/ if the solitary habit/is their way,/or if he listened for/some missing one–/not knowing even/that was what he did–/in the blowing sounds in the dark,/ I know that/hope is the hardest/love we carry./He slept/with his long neck/folded, like a letter/put away. 

“Hope is the hardest love we carry.” Not thing we carry. Not weight we carry. But love. I heard it correctly the night Irene said it, but over the following week or so I misheard it in my head and thought, thing, even though that didn’t sound right. Thankfully Irene sent me the quote, and it made all the difference.

I thought of the different ways we express love to our family and friends, how love is manifested. How difficult it is in the midst of trials. I thought about how intertwined hope and love are; how so much of what we hope for–even for love itself–grows from a place of love. 

The poetry reading was held on a Tuesday evening. At 3:27 the next morning, my brother-in-law texted Hubby to let him know he was in the hospital, prepping for a long hoped for lung transplant. On Friday of that week, a classmate shared that a kidney had finally been found for her not-quite-two-year-old Grand, Luka. He’d started dialysis when he was three days old. Like all transplant families, out of love we held onto hope for years. Even with the looming surgeries and possible complications, that week our hearts were lighter; our love a little easier to carry.

Both recipients are doing amazingly well, and Luka’s donor is also doing well. Unfortunately, as we all know, my brother-in-law’s new lung was a final gift from someone. Our family is eternally grateful to that person and their family. I know my classmate is also grateful to Luka’s donor, a family member. I’ve seen the photos; Luka and his donor already share a special bond that will only strengthen.

The evening of the poetry reading, Irene offered Hirshfield’s quote as part of a brief mention about the current state of things in our country. When I researched the quote, looking for the complete essay or poem it came from, I found the poem embedded in Natalie Jabbar’s Live in the Layers blog in a post from January 2022. Jabbar wrote she was keeping the poem close as our country ‘… faces a harrowing time.’ More than three years later we’re still there, no longer facing it but living in it. And yet.

Hope is the hardest love we carry. The whole point of the quote is that despite the weight and difficulty of what’s going on around us, we continue to carry hope because we know how precious and important it is. Despite the daily deluge of images on the news showing us how far we’ve fallen, we’re drawn to seek out images of beauty in art and nature. My cousin Jackie is currently posting pics of the transformation of her monarch caterpillars to their chrysalis stage. No matter how often the process repeats each year, it’s awe-inspiring to witness. It’s a literal sign of hope.

I’ve read people are getting fatigued from the real physical and mental work that goes into resisting current political policies and mandates, fatigued from the love they’re carrying. And it is from love the work begins and continues. I heard it in the powerful voices of writers and poets during the writers’ workshop, and in the quieter prayers of a monthly candlelight vigil for peace.

In a few days we’ll again remember and honor the victims of 9/11, and express our gratitude to all the first responders and others who brought our country together. Our hope was the heaviest love we carried. On the news the other night was a clip of a young bride on her recent wedding day, the daughter of a NYC firefighter killed on 9/11. Members of her dad’s station were there in uniform to represent him on her special day.  

In whatever ways hope and love show up for you this week, may you hold on to them tightly. See you next Monday! A shout out and thank you to Jackie for her photos of her beautiful monarchs.