When Hope Hurts

I don’t want to write this, not really – and I know I don’t owe it to you – but I feel like I owe it to myself, in a way, because I’ve committed (as part of my justification for having a blog) to documenting the ups and downs of infertility/child loss, as a kind of road map of ‘How It Can Be’ – the like of which I found so very comforting when I first entered this ‘world’.

Besides, it’s been obvious that something’s been a bit ‘off’ with me lately, and the friends who’ve asked have mostly been met with a quick brush-off and change of subject, which isn’t really fair. So perhaps I owe it to them a little bit.

So here it is – I’m two weeks late for my period.

I didn’t acknowledge it at first, nor check dates in my calendar. There was a mild wondering along the lines of ‘shouldn’t I be due sometime soon?’ but I didn’t focus on it – there’s too much else going on in my mind at the moment – so when I finally got my diary out and looked at the dates, there was a sudden, stilling intake of breath, and as I stood there in the hallway, Hope flickered.

The Hope I had officially given away to others to hold, because it hurt too much to see it dashed to pieces each month; the Hope I could no longer handle living with for the constant, torturous grip it held me in; the Hope which, with Husby’s change of treatment and the cementing of his infertility, had seemed to quieten and distance itself from me…

For a week and a half, I let myself live with Hope.

I tried to tell myself repeatedly that there was simply no way, but my imagination ran into daydreams of blue lines, swollen bellies, morning sickness, exchanged looks of excitement with Husby, and finally, that most glorious of events: a live birth. I saw mothers with their babies and for a week and a half thought “Perhaps” instead of “Ouch!”

I panicked, too, because Husby’s depression still looms in the background, and my brain is ten kinds of messy, and the prospect of disappointment or the contemplation of another miscarriage was almost unbearable, and Hope seemed threatening then, as though if I thought about it or tested or bought into my dreams, they would be brought crashing down, and anyway, pregnancy is no guarantee of a live birth – I could still lose it at any point.

I didn’t tell anyone until the weight of worry became too much to handle alone, and I reached out to some of my Lifeboats, who generously let me unburden myself to them; to share my fears and my dreams and my hesitance, and who accepted the situation and my response and said they were there for me.

But then one piece of common-sense advice got through. What if I waited to test, and then in two more weeks, or a month, or however long it was, there was just disappointment – I would have had that much longer with Hope, and so that much further to fall.

I hated hearing that, and knowing it was right, because Hope had become precious by then – a glimmer that somehow there had been a miracle and that Husby and I might be parents – and anyway, as long as I didn’t confirm the negative, then the possibility still remained; Schroedinger’s pregnancy, if you will.

Husby agreed, though, that knowledge and confirmation might be the best way forward, then at least we could carry on our lives informed, one way or another, and so on Saturday morning, having planned to go out for cake afterwards (either in celebration or consolation), I took the test. We laid on the bed, curled together and trying to tell each other it would be negative; that we were wasting the last test; that there was no chance, for three long minutes (and one more, to be certain) while Hope danced over our heads, spinning visions of sleepless nights and small, newborn-perfumed heads.

We walked the long walk back to the bathroom together, to check.

It was negative.

Of course it was negative. He has an endocrine disorder and is taking a treatment which makes him even *more* infertile. And I haven’t been eating properly lately and have done altogether too much exercise out of anxiety, and *neither* of us are in a fit state to be parents, not really. And anyway, a positive result is no guarantee of a child. There are lots of reasons why I could be late for my period (probably). It was ridiculous even to think it could be pregnancy.

So we brightened ourselves up and went for Cake of Consolation, and tried to be okay about it.

We weren’t okay about it (though as he pointed out – better the disappointment than another loss).

I was cranky, and Husby – the man I want to be Little Old Uglies with; the man I chose (and choose) to spend my life with – reiterated that he thought perhaps I would be better off without him; with someone instead who could “give you what you want” (in spite of my insistence that there are not now, nor have there ever been hoards of men banging on the door wanting to marry me and start a family, OR my staunch defence that it’s still HIM I want to be with), and that he felt guilty for being the one who was broken and responsible for rendering our dreams of a family impossible.

I saw the weight of sorrow in his eyes and heard it in his voice – he wants this as much as I do, though I think it hurts him a little less; his hurt has a lot more to do with my sadness – and I tried so hard not to add to his guilt and pain, but hot, fat tears escaped and fell down my face as I drove us home.

Hope had grown sharp edges and was cutting the insides of my heart to shreds, leering with a wicked smile full of needle-sharp teeth, telling me “You should have KNOWN”, leaving me with an ache which folded over and over and enveloped me and made me wish that we could curl up together and just stop being, because the combination of his brokenness and my own seems to have created an abyss of pain which we’ve been kicked over the edge of – again.

“I don’t like Hope – it hurts.” I grouched to him, “I should just test straight away next time (if there is one) and eliminate it early on…but at the time it was too nice to live with even just the possibility.”

He looked askance at me

“Of course Hope hurts – by its very definition it means that something is unfulfilled…”


Hopes are Too Sharp
So here’s my Silver Lining – I still get to come to ‘Murica next year for my Big Tour.

And to my friends, who have once again held me together; who have listened to my fears and dreams and not judged; who have consoled and commiserated and not said I was foolish; who have been kind and generous with their time; who have done their best to cheer me up and make me laugh again; who have chosen to care about me, and have shown it – thank you, from the bottom of my hopeless heart.



101 thoughts on “When Hope Hurts

  1. Oh Lizzi. I know this is an old post I’m crying new tears over, and I know I was bought here via your latest post, which is full of new hope and already-lived-throughs, and positives. But Oh! I’m so sorry the babies never happened (though perhaps they will one day, perhaps). I can easily imagine how hard it must be to want a child and not have one, because I relate to the wanting.

    β€œOf course Hope hurts – by its very definition it means that something is unfulfilled.” << What a thought provoking (great) quote!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ll never say never, but it’s looking less and less likely. And to be honest, I’m really enjoying child-free life now. Thoroughly. There are many times and circumstances where I imagine how things would be ‘rightnow’ if I had a kid in tow, or to manage, and…it just wouldn’t be workable in the way I want to live. So there’s that.

      But yes…this was awful at the time, and I genuinely didn’t think I was going to come back from it. I thought it was the be-all and end-all, for many reasons. I think Dyanne’s comment on my current post is right; it’s unanswered prayers πŸ™‚


  2. Your painful and gentle words bring tears to my eyes. It is sad when something you desire seems so far out of reach from no fault of your own. I pray for a miracle for you!! I also know that God gives us options as to the ways in which we become parents. Could there be other options for the two of you? I’ve also known more than one couple who unable to bring a child into the world, they decided to adopt. Lo and behold ended up pregnant when adoption was almost complete. They now have two beautiful daughters, six months apart in age, so miracles can happen. Wishing you all His love.


    • We’ve explored all the other options. At the moment there are none for us, though yes, I’ve heard lots of the ‘miracle of adoption’ stories, and good for the people who they work for. It’s not going to be us.

      It’s just one of those things. Not anyone’s fault, and there’s not a way to fix it at the moment. We’ll wait and see.


  3. It took me nearly all day to scroll through these wonderfully supportive comments. You have love surrounding all your broken edges…yet they will not do anything to fix that which feels broken. I add my love and I will hope for you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ve got some wonderful, amazing people around me. And I’m so, SO glad to count you as one of them, Sunset. HUGELY glad. But you know that, cos I told you πŸ˜€ And to be fair, I think sometimes (perhaps not in this situation) there are times when love *can* heal the broken edges. As evidenced ❀

      As for hope…we shall see πŸ™‚


  4. I felt this too, I waited for hope and ate cake too –

    β€œOf course Hope hurts – by its very definition it means that something is unfulfilled…”

    Great line, great quote –

    Take care of each other πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I suppose Husby’s right, but it doesn’t make it a palatable truth, and cake doesn’t make it better, in spite of tasting nice. I think keep taking care of each other and hoping for peace is the best thing. Well, not ‘hoping’, but you know what I mean πŸ™‚ Thanks.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Usually… I read all comments before I comment.
    No time tonight.
    But, reading your very personal post… struck me.
    Me, myself, I have led / lived a rather reckless, feckless, careless sort of life. And have never ever been sick (aside from a recent rumor of a heart attack… Hahahha).

    Cannot say “Lance, you have been blessed.” That would be blasphemy. (If you have read my blog, you would have figured out that I am an atheist)

    At any rate, that does not make me a bad person.
    I must admit, I am most moved by your post and I do admire.
    Nothing but good wishes for you come from me.
    I really applaud your spirit and the love I feel you have for your ‘husby…’

    All My Best,

    I took some time just now to read some of the comments here, as I ‘know’ many of the folks you know.
    Now, mine (comments) seem so inadequate. But, I am sincere. I cannot pretend to know what you are going through. I can try to sincerely empathize though. Yes. I can do that. At least.
    Peace to you.
    I have a really bad habit of linking music to comments.
    I want to link a happy song for you, but…. I do not want to ov’erstep.
    Try this one:
    Maybe it will make you smile. It is a song about nothing and it is vanilla:
    And it always makes me smile inside:


    Liked by 1 person

    • Lance, that is one of my favourite Summer tunes – inspired choice πŸ™‚

      And whatever anyone else did or didn’t say, I appreciate you coming over and saying this. I think peace might be the best option for us to find in life now, seeing as hope has proved an untrustworthy companion.

      I’m glad that my love for Husby shows through. That’s a good sign πŸ™‚

      And as for you, sir, I wish you peace, music, happiness and ongoing healthiness (heart-attack rumours notwithstanding) πŸ™‚


    • Thanks Jen.

      There are so many times when I get cross and upset, but…it’s one of those things, innit – the world is broken in so many ways, and this is just another one of them. We struggle on, don’t we? And in the end we find our silver linings and it all feels…as though we had some fun along the way, at least πŸ™‚


  6. Oh, Lizzie! You hit so many nails on the head here. It reminds me how much I reacted to Dickinson’s “Hope Is The Thing With Feathers” when I first read it. I was only in middle school but even then I had such a tough relationship with hope and disappointment.

    I’m so glad that you have an army of supportive friends around you. You definitely are not alone. <3<3<3

    Liked by 1 person

    • I feel like that’s something I should read – I’ve not come across it before! I shall consider that a recommendation. Thank you.

      And yeah – the army of friends TRULY helps huge…I would be lost without them. Nice to see you here, though πŸ™‚


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  8. Oh, Lizzi, I’m sorry. I know my circumstances were different when we were “trying” and “failing” to get pregnant, but there’s nothing worse than shattered hope. I have on more than one occasion started my period on the pregnancy test.

    You really are so brave and so strong to share this with us, and the fact that you too find a silver lining…well, that’s more than a little admirable. In the meantime, I hope you know that those of us who get the privilege to be a part of your world get to experience life with a little more sparkle thanks to you and that the love that you share with the universe, with me…it doesn’t go unnoticed. You are held, my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Still haven’t started, either. I don’t even want to think about it *grimaces* It sucks that you know what it’s like though – I guess to an extent everyone who didn’t just find themselves unexpectedly and delightfully pregnant has an idea.

      I don’t feel particularly brave or strong, just disappointed and committed to trying to demonstrate to any infertile person who comes here looking for the real deal, that there still CAN be good things in the world, even though it sometimes feels like the desire to have a child (and subsequent disappointment when it doesn’t happen) is all there is, ever.

      You’re very sweet, Mandi, to say such lovely things, and I’m glad that you find life more sparkly with me in it. That’s pretty special really πŸ™‚


  9. I’m sitting here bawling. I’m so sorry, but I admire your strength. You remain such a lovely person despite your struggles. I can only imagine the heartache you experience. It always breaks my heart when I hear about a woman who desperately wants to have children but can’t for whatever reason.

    I don’t have any words of wisdom, but I’m sending you an awkwardly tight, boob-crushing hug. πŸ™‚ xo

    Also, if you are in Pennsylvania (located on the east coast), you should stop by Scranton. It’s almost as boring as it was portrayed in The Office (U.S.)

    Liked by 1 person

    • I never saw an episode of The Office in my life – I caught a couple of clips from the UK version, which made me not want to EVER see more. But I shall have a look at where PA is when I get my map unrolled and begin plotting – you never know πŸ™‚

      Thanks for the hug – your description made me laugh πŸ™‚

      And thanks – I try (though Husby would probably disagree with me about the frequency of success) to remain a reasonably nice person throughout this, but it is utterly heartbreaking and there’s just nothing to be done, really. It’s One Of Those Things, and just has to be borne with. Hence all the silver linings. I’m just lucky there are so many of those πŸ™‚


  10. So sorry Lizzi! Not at all pregnancy related, but I have a little of that hope/fear/uncertainty going on right now, too, as I wait for some answers. I get it. It sucks. I ‘m glad, though, that you found the silver linings. I’m trying to do the same. ~Hugs~

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Once again you’ve put it perfectly, Lizzi. I deeply relate to how “hope pain” feels. I referred to it as “limbo”. It’s such a hard place to reside in and I completely understand your desire to just eliminate hope instead. I’m also proud of you for letting hope in. It’s never the wrong decision. Even when hope hurts. Hurt is better than numb. Big big big hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

    • *HUGE hugs*

      Are you sure it’s better than numb? Cos at the moment numb feels like it would be pretty good. That’s why I have Dana holding my hopes – so I don’t have to bear the weight of them. They hurt her less. That said, I couldn’t help but take back a little…ack 😦 Limbo is the perfect description for it. And crashing out of limbo and back down to reality…sucks.

      I shall keep thinking about you, and the fact that it CAN happen. It CAN, because we know it, and it DID.


  12. I believe that things are how they are for reasons we may not understand. However, that doesn’t make the situation any easier to accept or bear — and that blows. A big mental hug for you! And if your Merica tour brings you to New Mexico, I’ve got a guest room for you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohmigosh I don’t even know where New Mexico is! I’m gonna have to unwrap my map and start plotting!

      Thanks for the hug. I also believe that things are On Purpose – I just utterly fail to see what purpose and how they fit together or come right in the end, but I hope that they do…somehow.


  13. Lizzi, I’m so very sorry. Hugging you from here and sending love. I understand how you’re feeling on some very small level. I had three miscarriages and a really hard time between Max and Miles. But I know that doesn’t begin to compare to what you’re feeling. Just want you to know I feel for you.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Oh Lizzi. I’m so sorry. I would like nothing better than to let go of the hope I’m holding for you, because that would mean that it was fulfilled. Please know that I’m always here if you need to reach out. Love you.

    Liked by 1 person

  15. Oh Gosh Lizzi!! I went through ALL KINDS of emotion with this… the immediate selfish ‘WHAT? HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT ALL OF THIS??” with that sharp pain of sadness that I didn’t know about all of this… and I so desperately wish I could have served as your lifeboat during this time. Sigh…

    And the hope that threads through this piece- your heart- your lives… oh it’s so jagged and frayed and worn and blurry and heavy and broken. I hate that kind of hope. I’m not even sure it should be called hope. There’s got to be a better word for such a twisted take on life’s mangled messes that come from utter despair and disappointment. It just doesn’t seem right to me. Hope should have radiating beams of light around that word.

    I need to think more about this.

    My heart aches so hard and so heavy for you. I hate hate hate that you danced with the light of hope, only to be crushed by the victorious hopeless.

    Liked by 1 person

    • *hugs* It’s truly, truly alright, Kitty…that’s why I have so many lifeboats – so that I don’t interrupt the people who are busy with Real Life and actual priorities πŸ™‚

      You’ve been there for me before, SO much, and I have no doubt you will be again. And on the plus side, your lovely video gave me some lovely moments of light in the darkness πŸ™‚

      Let me know what you come up with after your thinking xXx


  16. “Something unfulfilled” that is powerful.
    I’m so sorry friend that you have to go through this pain. It is incredibly unfair.
    I wish that I could share a piece of cake with you and hug it out with our tummies.
    Just fucking with you…I’d totally eat all of the cake.
    I’d leave you crumbs.
    Kidding. Kidding.
    Much love friend.

    Liked by 1 person

  17. I’m sorry for both of you, for having to deal with the disappointment and grief and guilt. But it’s also very touching to see how strong you are as a couple.

    Not eating well can cause your period to be late and might be a sign that you need to take care of yourself more, so please do!

    Liked by 1 person

    • We often don’t *feel* very strong. It’s a lot to cope with, but we’ve made it this far and both still want to be married, which is good.

      I know not eating can affect your period, but honestly I am in better shape and healthier than I think I’ve ever been, so I’m still a bit baffled.


  18. Hope does hurt. Precisely because of what Husby said.
    Love hurts, too. Anything with a risk involved hurts, because there’s always the possibility that it won’t turn out well.
    Now I understand your week better. I feel terrible that I didn’t know more. xoxo

    Liked by 2 people

    • Don’t feel terrible – I was very cagey about it because I didn’t know until Saturday whether or not there was even anything to say. And then there was never the right moment or the right words. But you do know the other half of the things I’m struggling with, so there’s that, and your input there is helpful.

      And you’re right. Love hurts too.

      Why do the good things all have sharp edges and the bad ones just seem painful all the way through. That doesn’t seem reasonable. It bugs me that this world is geared for bad.


    • I decided a long time ago that I would try my best to be honest about this, for the sake of anyone else struggling with these issues, because I found it so, so helpful to read about other people’s honest accounts of their experiences with miscarriage and infertility, even though it’s so painful to know about.

      Thanks for the support.

      Liked by 1 person

    • I know, Carly…and I’m sorry you’ll have that to contend with, too. I don’t think that’s something which will change for either of us now – our experiences of pregnancy from now on will be filled with intense fear, as well as breathless joy and the desperate hope that this one makes it…and it’s awful.

      I hope your next missed period is the jackpot. Your chances are greater than mine, which is something to be thankful for, so I shall send my hopes your way, my friend πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  19. I wish I could give you a simple hug . . . for as long as you needed it. Hope can hurt, but it is something we have to hold on to, without it, why welcome another new day? We welcome it because no matter what it holds, there is a part of us that hopes it will be good. Having hope certainly doesn’t mean we have to be positive all the time, some days, you just need to be grumpy and get it out of your system. The things we desire most can be the very things that cause us the most heartache, sometimes we have to tuck them safely away and give our hearts and minds a brief respite from them. {{{hugs & prayers}}}

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes – that’s what I HAD done with this – there are a couple of people who said they’d hang onto these hopes for me, and they’ve been doing a marvellous job, and I feel like I just should have left it there and never gone there in my mind (impossible task, much!). I’m clearly not ready to have those hopes back.

      And I did get to the point the other week where there was no point in welcoming another day. So yes, there’s a reason we have hopes, but I think I need to stick to the little ones, like I hope I can keep up in boxing class tonight; and I hope it doesn’t rain.

      Small hopes for me, for now. But hugs are good too, and thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  20. I am so sorry you aren’t pregnant. I was excited in the first few lines of the blog too, hoping with you. You are such an inspiration and your truth is so raw. I am praying for your husband and you. Miracles are hope. A scripture floats in my head: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I will have faith for you and hope for miracles. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Mary – better you than I at the moment. At church yesterday there was a reading from Matthew’s gospel which said something about ‘if two of you ask for the same thing, it will be given to you’, which seems to be absolute rubbish. It feels much more like ‘You can have anything you want…as long as it’s something I want to give you’ and at the moment, a baby isn’t on that list. I don’t think God works like a vending machine, and I worry that Husby’s brokenness is just going to be allowed.

      But thank you – I do appreciate the prayers.


  21. I’m so sorry. Truly. I can’t even say anything or write anything that could make any of this better. My heart is with you and Husby. Here if you ever want to talk. I know you have your Lifeboat and that’s so important. I just always want to make everyone’s everything better. Sweet prayers for you both, my dear.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much. We’re getting there – him more rapidly than me, I think, but that’s often the nature of these things, I think. And I am lucky with my Lifeboats, but one can never have too many friends – I’m firmly of that opinion – and thank you for your support πŸ™‚


    • You made me laugh then…thanks πŸ˜€ And yes, I remember the huge hug (and now I think of it, the motorway bridge and the yelling and laughter and confusion of trying to find each other…we did have fun, didn’t we πŸ™‚ ) – I think meeting you was definitely one of the high points of my summer. And if you come over again, I will make time to take you to this cafe – it’s delightful.


  22. Oh Lizzi, I am reading this and I am crying for your pain. I can’t relate directly, of course, and I can’t even begin to imagine the hurt of that hope, the pain of that disappointment, but I do know that my own parents had similar struggles for upwards of five years. I am so sorry that you have to go through this.

    That cake though — that cake was a good idea, even though I know that Cake of Consolation is always bittersweet. Sending huge hugs your way and praying that you will find the comfort that you need. xoxoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks K – it was a sucky weekend, and a time-out was just what I needed. Kinda. I think what I need is the *feel* of that time-out to translate into Real Life. So far, no dice.

      I’m sorry your parents went through this too. It’s desperately hard, and I keep thinking that at some point it might wear off and become manageable (I’ve been informed that it does, in the end) but I’ve clearly not hit that point yet.

      And it’s very much ‘one of those things’. I just don’t like it, not at all. Thanks for the huge hugs xo


  23. Oh, Lizzi, I’m so sorry. Sorry for the disappointment, and for knowing well how much it can suck to be afraid to hope. Sending virtual hugs from afar. (Though I have to say that going for cake, EITHER WAY, was a very smart move.)

    Liked by 1 person

  24. Oh, Lizzi, if I could grant a wish, find a genie in a bottle, or perform a miracle I would remove your pain and ensure you have that which you most desire. But all I can offer you is an ear to listen and an occasional lame (and sometimes ill-timed) joke. Sometimes it seems life is cruelest to those who least deserve it.

    Liked by 3 people

    • I don’t think anyone deserves anything. This is just ‘one of those things’ – I’d say “with no rhyme or reason” but actually there is – it’s part and parcel of being married to a man with an endocrine disorder. So if there’s any ‘deserving’ to be had, then it’s in that.

      But thanks. I appreciate the sentiment and the friendship and always, always your support.


  25. I’m so sorry, Lizzi…I’m sorry you have to deal with that heartbreak. I understand about hope…I HATED hope when my son was an active heroin user. When he would stop using, I would hope that it was over..but it wasn’t and it seemed like it never would be over. Not until he died or went to jail. But then he did stop and it’s been two years now and hope didn’t kick my ass.

    Sometimes, hope isn’t horrible…but sometimes it’s like rolling around in broken glass.

    And the cake looks freaking A M A Z I N G!

    YAY FOR CAKE!!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Indeed – cake sometimes helps. But I am totally with you about rolling around in broken glass. And yes – having read your story, I quite understand how familiar you are with the love/hate relationship with Hope, and the incredible mis-trust of it which can build after it’s been dashed so many times.

      Crossing my fingers that yours doesn’t get broken again.


    • I appreciate the thought. I actually went through that thought process for a Finish the Sentence Friday post…I wound up with the conclusion that I would never waste a wish on something so selfish, but that I’d give everyone hope.

      But now I don’t like Hope so much, I don’t know what I’d give them all. Perhaps Peace.


  26. I can’t even think there are any words to make you feel better. Nor do I think that cake did it but it looks fabulous. Just know you are in my thoughts. Peace.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Roller coaster is right. I keep trying to step off and just rid myself of Hope because it frequently becomes too much, but…I’ve not succeeded yet, and it keeps hurting. Thanks for the wishes of light and peace. I hope they settle in soon.


    • It’s one of those horrible times when crushing disappointment teams up with ‘well, that’s sometimes the way things go’ and you end up torn between the two of them. As I said on FB, the support helps, so thank you.


  27. I can not even imagine how hard this must have been, my Lovely Sparkle. I only want to give you the biggest hug, because my words don’t feel sufficient at the moment. *big squishy hug*

    Also, that’s indeed a gorgeous piece of cake. Looks very soft too. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • The cake at this tea room is very beautiful. The whole place is beautiful – there are green-leather armchairs and books to read and a curio cabinet and everything is very gorgeously done. It’s a place of solace or celebration or time-out. But this weekend it still didn’t do the trick.

      Thank you though. It was/is very disappointing, but as Husby said – at least it wasn’t another loss.

      Liked by 2 people

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