Steve B, Kidney Recipient, with his son.

It was the summer of 2003 and we were vacation at Cape Cod. I hadn’t been feeling well and my dad had passed away suddenly several months earlier. I had been living with kidney disease for a while at that point and have always believed that there was hope. I have even said that I would take “false hope” over “no hope” any day and may be that was what I was thinking when I wrote those letters in the sand. As like many photos that I take once developed and looked at several times they get thrown in a box and forgotten. Six months later we were lucky enough to find a house in Rhode Island that was for sale and we could afford. We put a down payment on the house with insurance money that my dad had left me. At one point I recall a conversation I had with one of the home inspectors who was explaining the paperwork. I noticed something wrong so I questioned her. She had written the wrong town on the inspection form. “We live in Scituate” I had said and her reply sent me back a few steps. She told me that I do indeed live in Scituate but the town has several small villages and I now live in one them. She said, “The village you live in is Hope”. A chill ran up my spine and I instantly remembered the photo taken earlier that summer. It now hangs on our foyer wall so that when we arrive home “Hope” is the first thing we see when we enter our house. 



It was the summer of 2003 and we were vacation at Cape Cod. I hadn’t been feeling well and my dad had passed away suddenly several months earlier. I had been living with kidney disease for a while at that point and have always believed that there was hope. I have even said that I would take “false hope” over “no hope” any day and may be that was what I was thinking when I wrote those letters in the sand. As like many photos that I take once developed and looked at several times they get thrown in a box and forgotten. Six months later we were lucky enough to find a house in Rhode Island that was for sale and we could afford. We put a down payment on the house with insurance money that my dad had left me. At one point I recall a conversation I had with one of the home inspectors who was explaining the paperwork. I noticed something wrong so I questioned her. She had written the wrong town on the inspection form. “We live in Scituate” I had said and her reply sent me back a few steps. She told me that I do indeed live in Scituate but the town has several small villages and I now live in one them. She said, “The village you live in is Hope”. A chill ran up my spine and I instantly remembered the photo taken earlier that summer. It now hangs on our foyer wall so that when we arrive home “Hope” is the first thing we see when we enter our house.