What I've learned about loss is that it can make you feel a grief that impacts every part of your life. This grief is like a gray-tinted lens that has been put over your eyes and colors everything you see. It is a heavy burden that has been placed on your back and clings to you, even when you want to put it down.

What I've learned about hope is that it gives you strength to step out of the darkness. When loss tells us that we won't be able to find our way forward, hope gives us a map and holds our hand through the journey. Hope tells us we have everything we need to handle our burdens and our fears.

What I know about loss is that it sneaks up on you. It presents itself without warning, and much like ivy creeping up a tree trunk, it weaves its vines around you, up your legs and around your neck: immobilizing you, suffocating you, leaving you without hope.

What I learned about hope is that it seeps in between the cracks of what was once broken and mends it back together like a piece of broken pottery held together with glue.

What I have learned about hope is that when you light a candle, you can see immediately no matter how long the room has been dark.

What I have learned about loss is that silence can be deafening.

What I've learned about loss is that it is isolating. Loss will try to make you feel excluded in despair, like you have been dropped into a hole and you have been left to claw your way out. It makes you feel lost and makes you doubt whether there is help in sight.

What I've learned about hope is that it creates abundance. With hope, we can invite everyone to the table because there is space and food for all. With hope, we share with our neighbors, even if it doesn't feel like there is much to give. We trust that there will be enough to go around.

What I have learned about loss is that death is forever.

What I have learned about hope is that kindness is remembered right up until death.

What I've learned about loss is that it makes you feel vulnerable. Suddenly what you thought was secure has been taken away from you. What you thought you could hold on to has slipped through your hands. It makes you want to cling to what you have left, knowing it might fall away just like the rest.

What I've learned about hope is that it is found in community. It is discovered in the friend who reminds us we are not truly alone. It lives on in the volunteer who lends a helping hand. It exists in the neighbor who shares their bread. It survives in those who have confidence in the bounty of tomorrow.

What I know about loss is that it doesn’t matter if they have two feet or four paws. It doesn’t matter if it’s a child or parent, drug addict or philanthropist.

What I know about loss is that it doesn’t matter if they are young or if they have lived a thousand lives under the sun.

What I learned about hope is that it’s found in memories of loved ones when the heartache begins to heal, the tears dry, and the clouds clear, when thinking of them brings smiles instead of tears. It’s found in unity among division and love among hate.

What I have learned about loss is that having someone to eat with can be more important than how much I get to eat.

What I learned about hope is that you can hear a whisper from far away when surrounded by silence.

What I learned about loss is the pain of disappointment and discouragement brings opportunity to learn and become stronger.

What I learned about loss is when I lose something that has a tight hold on me, I gain clarity on how important that person, thing or situation was, as well as the value of what remains.

Hope returns when you realize that an unplanned and even unwanted new beginning breaks open options never before considered possible. Like dry soil that is hardened and cannot produce crop, a heart that is hardened and unbending cannot grow. If the soil is broken and watered, it allows new growth. Similarly, a heart that is broken is more supple and open to expansion.

What I have learned about loss is that you can't see a smile in total darkness.

What I’ve learned about loss is how it surrounds you like a shroud, and you topple under its heavy mantle. When you finally want to emerge, you are Sisyphus, crawling out from underneath its insurmountable weight.

What I’ve learned about hope is how the smell of lilac bushes fragrance the air and perfume your mind, lifting your soul a few inches from the ground in that moment of peace.

What I have learned about loss is that zero divided by anything is still zero.

What I've learned about hope is that anything is infinitely more than zero.

What I’ve learned about loss is that despite how tragic the circumstances might be, life goes on and it is important to move forward and be able to encounter difficult circumstances in a peaceful way, no matter how hard they may be.

What gives me hope is that the difficulties we are facing are bringing people together in ways that could never have been imagined.

Hope comes after I learn to survive without people, things or situations I didn’t think I could live without and prioritize what’s left in a more meaningful way.

What I’ve learned about loss is that it comes in the form of a coworker yelling for help from inside a room in which you cannot yet safely enter, while she bangs on the glass like it’s her that’s suffocating.

What I’ve learned about hope is that we prune our souls and sprout new leaves. Our thorns don’t make us untouchable — they make us human, they make us real.

What I’ve learned about loss is how it rises from the ashes and brings you to your knees. You cower while it screams at you; nothing drowns out its cry.

What I’ve learned about hope is how you can finally breathe when someone hears you and understands your pain. You were trapped, and now you are free.

What I’ve learned about loss is that sometimes those whom we perceive as being gone begin to have an even greater presence in our lives and that we haven’t lost them at all, we just experience them in a different way.

What I’ve learned about loss is that many times it creates a bond amongst those who survive it. Experiencing loss within a family brings people together to reflect and reminisce. Though these celebrations of life have been altered by our respective governments, we have found ways to connect despite the constraints.

What I’ve learned about loss is that it’s a weighted balloon. Some days it’s heavier to carry than others.

What I’ve learned about hope is the strengthening of friendships in dark, late-night hospital rooms. Looking on the schedule to see if they are on that night, knowing the shift will be immensely better with them there.

What I’ve learned about loss is that it’s planning for my own mortality. Memory making of who I am for my son, as I might miss out on his life. Buying books of what a nurse does, buying books of places we’ve been do, and keeping an intermittent journal of the adventures we’ve been on.

What I’ve learned about hope is it’s watching pink flowers, slowly turning into juicy purple blueberries, eager to be picked by toddler hands. The knowledge of caring for a plant that will turn into something that will bring my son joy, fill his belly with sweetness, and make a smile on his face.

What I’ve learned about loss is that staring through a glass hospital window at a COVID patient struggling, knowing there are no interventions left, is dehumanizing.

What I’ve learned about hope is that it’s a new breath. Full of oxygen, expanding lungs and finding the beauty in each moment.

What I’ve learned about loss is that even though I’m at the bedside, my position as a nurse feels helpless. After a time of loss, hope allows us to look outside of ourselves and see the pain of others and be inspired by their courage.

What I’ve learned about hope is that it’s a new breath. Full of oxygen, expanding lungs and finding the beauty in each moment.

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