When Hope Holds Its Breath

After all the years of disappointment, I cannot help but feel almost emotionless. The idea of being a father—of loving and raising children as I never was—has resided in me since adolescence. I wanted to undo all the mistakes of my parents, to prove to the world that it does not have to be that way.

As we begin our medical intervention, I am stoic. I have spent countless hours pondering why. Why do I feel so ambivalent at the precipice of my life’s greatest achievements? The prospects of a child and the career I have spent years pursuing are moments away from fruition. With them comes the inevitable displacement from the state I have longed to leave since childhood, and the chance to wander the world with the woman I love. My childhood dreams are within reach, and yet I am ambivalent. Why?

It is because I am always waiting for someone to fall, for the other shoe to drop, for the bottom to give way. I am ambivalent until it is all tangible. Conditioned by generations of trauma passed down to me. Conditioned by a childhood I have so desperately sought to spite—a childhood filled with disappointment and shattered hopes. I am savvy enough to know that with hope comes the prospect of despair. And in those moments of despair, I have always been the rock.

The rock is hard. Its temperature changes gradually. Its weight bears down on the world, making it sturdy for others to grasp. It is what others need it to be. The value of the rock holds true during trials and tribulations so long as these attributes remain. Its edges can be weathered and worn, but never polished. Once the rock is cracked, shaped, and polished, its value becomes only aesthetic. It is then a thing to show others—a symbol of status, not practicality. The rock is ugly and forgotten until it is needed. The rock must be willing to sacrifice. It must weather the storms, provide protection from the wind and rain, and stand in the face of danger so others might remain safe. The rock must be stoic.

It is in moments of despair that I find my words most often written—words used to transfer the feelings a rock must not express. But it is in moments of tangible hope that I find my greatest words, when I finally allow myself to express the feelings I have hidden from others, and even from myself. It is in the moments of purgatory that I find myself speechless. The calm before the storm. The silence that has plagued me for so long is the silence of purgatory, and these are the only words I could muster.

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Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.