I used to think that hope and grief were opposites; kind of like distant relatives who live on opposite sides of the country. Now I know that they are more like neighbors, habitating on the same block, watching each other’s garage doors going up in the morning as they leave, and closing tightly when they return home at the end of the day. Hope and grief live inside me, side by uneasy side. They snap at each other’s heels hoping to see the other fall. Sometimes they are like a pendulum that swings me back and forth between them. They coexist and I am defenseless against them.