My mom handed me a box with a rubber band wrapped around it.
“Look what I found,” she said.
I opened it, and tucked neatly between the folds of an old paper towel was a wishbone.
“I wanted you to have it,” she told me.
When I was growing up we would celebrate Thanksgiving (and my Pappap’s birthday) with my mom’s parents. Pappap and I would always share the wishbone. I can’t say for certain, because my memory is not that good, but something tells me he knew a special way to hold it so I always got the bigger piece.
He always wanted my wishes to come true.
I remember being young and wrapped up in a green and black crocheted blanket, held in his arms looking up at the big bright moon. That same moon still shines, and that makes him feel close to me even now.
Life is full of wishes, of dreams, of desires. Alongside all of that magic come the things we cannot control – the endings, the fear, the uncertainty.
For now, I hold the wishbone in my hand and know that even when things turn dark, I will always find my way to the next wish, I will always search for that hopeful light of the moon, and I will always feel held by those I love and who have loved me.
And I wish the same for you.