The Handkerchief of Hope

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This is the entry I wrote for Writing Battle; my first ever writing competition.
Posted January 17th, 2026, at 9:35pm.

This is for you, Mom. Proof that I kept, and continue to keep, my promise. <3


I sit cross-legged in my computer chair, fortunate enough to have survived the super Saiyan flu of 2026, though my body still has complaints. 

Time Travel. Champion. Handkerchief. 

How poetic, I thought. No redraws necessary. 

Instantly I go to the days of knights and fair maidens. The gallant good sir, off to fight fierce dragons, leaving his lady to await his return. I could see it… Young love, pining away at a window, struggling with fear, worry, doubt; the “what ifs” that grow like thorn-covered vines. Vicious and unforgiving as they scale the castle walls of the mind. 

Oh, and how her mother, the queen possibly, endures alongside her daughter in the unknown. Maybe the queen shares a story of her own handkerchief given in hope of a safe return. The moral being that waiting requires an unsung strength. How sometimes survival is unnoticed, uncelebrated, but heroic nonetheless…

Yet, that was not the end… It evolved, in all places, during my therapy session, not dissimilar to a Pokémon. 

I could bring the story forward. To here. Now. The present day. 

What if… instead of a fair maiden, there is a young girl, her boyfriend enlisted and deployed. What if it was about the crushing uncertainty of never knowing if there will be a “next time,” and it is this fictional girl’s mother harking back to tales of do-gooders. Her soft, steady voice explaining how maidens gave their “favor,” their love, held within a piece of cloth. How it isn’t about the object providing protection, but rather how the object holds meaning, becoming a tangible thing nurturing an abstract concept. Purpose. 

Mmmm. Yes… More solid on the time travel bit… Nice. But also… a tender thread of thought within my own mind quietly asks to be seen. Viktor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning. How even in the most horrific, unsurvivable conditions, life can in fact, continue. Persist. Endure.

All one needs is a reason, a purpose, to do so. 

And so… here we are… The thing to which the thread of thought led…

There… has never been room for -my- story. It isn’t nice enough, clean enough, Instagram selfie enough, to be part of most conversations… 

I have blogged… for years… I have “BBs”, blogging buddies. A few of us have exchanged addresses. I went so far as to cross-stitch gifts for some of them. Artwork in fabric made of random colored thread, my love and care made physical. A network of support, watching my story unfold as I wrote it, post by post; day by day. 

It was fun. Connective. Fulfilling. And so I continued to post, unflinchingly authentic in my lived experience. Unapologetic for my existence. 

Then, on April 4th, 2016, my world ended…

My mother died. 

At the age of 27, I found myself standing outside her hospital room, a room we were supposed to be discharged from. We were supposed to go home. I was supposed to be her caretaker… It was going to be different and scary but as long as she was alive we would figure it out… together…  

But that wasn’t my path anymore…

There was no path. There was only holding her hand one last time, now devoid of life, and promising that even though I didn’t know how, that I would keep going. For her. Somehow… Some way… 

I called Dad. Even divorced, he deserved to know. I held myself together as I looked out at the mountains surrounding Las Vegas, and said words I never thought I would ever say as the setting sun shone on devastating truth…

“Mom died.”  

I imagine that moment is what soul shattering feels like.

This… horrific feeling of nothingness… consuming my entire being, eviscerating my heart, as those words left my lips for the first time; speaking an unbearable reality into being. 

Not grief. Not anger. Not rage… 

Just… the absence of everything. Of meaning. Of purpose. Of reason to endure…

And that was my life for what felt like countless eons. 

Then… one random day, months later… a letter arrived…

Words, handwritten on stationery like ye olden days of mīn own lifetime, harking back to when cards meant something…

And with it, a handkerchief…

Mama Spike, one of my BBs, had read my post about Mom’s death…

She wrote in elegant script that she grieved with and for me. How she knew a handkerchief could not fix the agonizing wound in my chest, but it could catch my tears if I let it. It could hold my grief and sorrow. It could be there with me in the moments where I felt alone and lost and screamed in anguish. 

It is a physical, tangible thing that I can place into someone else’s hands, like a memory from the movie Inside Out, and say “This is one reason I didn’t commit suicide.”

So, dear reader, my fellow human, I regret that I have no tales of brave knights and fair maidens within this text. No triumphant hero returning from a harrowing deed to their one true love. 

Instead I have the story of me; a 37-year-old motherless daughter, approaching the decade mark of the death that destroyed me, and yet, somehow, I am still undeniably alive. 

If this is my own story to a “worthless”, priceless, piece of fabric…

I wonder…

How many champions have fallen because they were never able to hold the love of someone who cared for them? 

I… could stay silent, scared to share for fear of being “too much”…

Or… like a Noble Monarch Butterfly… I could set my story free to change the weather of the world in whatever unknown ways it might…

Like Hercules at the Crossroads I stand before Vice and Virtue. Comfort and Truth. 

I draw a deep, steadying breath…

“This is for you, Mom. For every essay you ever proofread. For every time you said ‘I believe in you.’”

“YOLO, bitches…” 

And thus, I cast my own handkerchief into the Web, having faith. Purpose.

Musing Moment 125: LFTIO – Strengths and Growth Areas

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DSS Leadership – Assignment 4
Book – “Leadership from the Inside Out”





Imagine yourself observing a dear friend talking about you with heartfelt love and admiration. What would your friend be saying?

Most likely something about how I am kind or caring. How I’m positive and non-judgemental. How I am accepting and understanding. Even typing those few sentences sitting alone, by myself, in front of a computer screen makes me feel uncomfortable. I don’t feel like I do anything special. I feel like I treat people decently and with empathy. I don’t understand why that seems like such a special thing or why people seem to appreciate it so much. It makes my heart ache to think that we live in a world where basic kindness is such a rare thing that it has become a loved trait worthy of heartfelt admiration.

When you are energized and inspired, what particular personality traits or strengths are you expressing?

Drive. Organization. Maybe slight control, depending on how you view delegation of tasks. Timeliness. Communication. At times, periods of reflection for self and reassessment of a situation goal or process. Determination. Problem-solving. Resourcefulness. Dedication. Passion. Possibly competitiveness.

What are some of your Conscious Beliefs?

I am a good person.

What are some of your Shadow Beliefs?

I am inadequate. I am alone.

When you are leading with Character, what qualities come forth? Do certain situations inhibit or express your character more?

Passion. Empathy. Openness. Positivity. Collaboration and inclusion. Laughter, smiles, and warmth. Fun. A sense of fulfillment and worthwhileness. A sense of purpose.

The more support I or the group receives and the less progress prevention encountered, the easier it is for me to maintain motivation and moral. The more negativity others feed into the situation, the more difficult and frequent the obstacles are to overcome, the harder it is for me to maintain not only the motivation and drive of others but mine as well.

When you are leading by Coping, what qualities come forth? What beliefs or fears are generating a reactive state of mind, emotion, or behavior?

Self-preservation. A loss of security. A need to do damage control by taking control. A need to minimize additional input at all costs because more input would be too much. Larger amounts of alone time to recover from or prevent burnout and a “kill or be killed” mentality in ensuring I get the time I want/need to recharge. A lack of empathy because it feels like no one cares about me or what I want or need to be ok. No one cares about my effort or all the things I’m already doing. What I’m doing obviously isn’t good enough because if it were I wouldn’t be treated like this or feel like this or be in this situation. Depression. Apathy. Losing connection with my inner self, resulting in a disruption of balance, peace and a loss of clarity regarding my priorities and values.

I fear not being good enough. I fear being told that I should have done something better because I feel I always try my best and if my best isn’t good enough then where does that leave me? What more can I offer? I can only be me. What do I do when I am found lacking or unworthy?

I fear making the wrong choices. I fear causing harm to others through my choices. I fear miscommunicating. I fear hurting people’s feelings.

I fear being abandoned. I fear the people I love dying and leaving me alone. I fear the thought of the fragile life I have been working to build for the past three years, crumbling around me to dust and having to find the will to start all over again. Yet, at the same time, I fear not getting the solitude and space I need to hear myself think and to let go of all of the external pressures which honestly don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I fear losing myself in the noise which is our world. I fear being misunderstood. I fear not mattering or making a difference. I fear being forgotten and living a life in which it wouldn’t have matter if I were alive or not.

What do other people consistently tell you that you need to work on or develop? What new behaviors are you committed to practicing?

I honestly don’t know, and maybe that’s because I haven’t truly been listening or processing those pieces of the conversations. I feel like I don’t get constructive feedback from many people, if any. It’s hard to know what you need to work on when you’re the only person providing yourself with feedback.

I want to try to be more self-confident at work. I want to feel like I am a leader, regardless of my title or position, rather than feeling like I’m unworthy of being thought of as a leader because of my shadow belief of inadequacy.

At the end of your life, what do you hope people will thank you for contributing?

If, when I die, a line could be formed and people could thank me for something before I walk through the doors of death, I would want them to thank me for caring. I would want them to thank me for giving a fuck when so much of the world didn’t. I would want to be thanked for taking the time to listen to them and to make them feel like they mattered because we all matter. Every single one of us. We all have a voice. We all sing, and scream, and laugh and cry. We all are born. We all grow older than what we were. We all experience and love and grief. We all learn and make mistakes.

I feel that deep down, at the core of who we are as humans, that all we want is to know that someone heard us and listened to our story. I want to be known as one of the people who listened and truly heard what they said.

If you decided to take a new approach to living or leading, what would this new approach be?

Understanding my own shortcomings and flaws so I can better understand how I positively or negatively affect the people I interact with.