Our Wishes

"Hey, I call the wishbone!" Joseph announces-- before anyone takes their first bite of turkey.

And then a little more tentatively, "Is that okay?"

Everyone is smiling-- and no one objects.

"Sure," I tell him, "but only if I get a shot at it too."

"Mom," he says, eyes rolling, "you'll just wish for a cure for diabetes."

We all look at him.

"I can live with diabetes," he continues, laughing. "No. I'm wishing I have a good regionals on Saturday."

"Joseph-- a card tournament?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, beaming.

I pick up my wine glass, take a sip of Cabernet, and remember something that happened only two weeks before...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We'd just left his endo appointment-- our first in the new clinic building.

Though Joseph's A1c had gone down (from 8.1 to 8), I was really hoping it would have gone down further.

That we'd have gotten it below 8.

Standing in the elevator, I kept hearing his doctor's reassuring words:

"Yes, we want him in the 7s, but this is still good-- most kids we see in middle school move up into the 9s, sometimes higher. And Sandra, his growth is excellent."

His growth is excellent. His growth is excel-

"How about McDonald's?" Joseph broke in.

"Huh? For lunch? Ahhh... no."

For the next few minutes, we talked about food options while making our way down several long, shiny new corridors, on and off yet another elevator...

And that was when everything around us began to look less new-- and uncomfortably familiar.

We'd taken a wrong turn.

And just like that, we were standing in front of a fountain I hadn't seen in over three years.

A wall of large, rough-hewed stones-- water, pouring in ripples over the face of it.

And at its base-- a shallow pool, littered with coins.

We're back. In the hospital-- just outside the cafeteria.

The conversations with Ryan, the crying-- the desperate throwing of every piece of change I had into that pool.

The wishing.

The praying.

It all came back in waves.

For a moment, all I could do was look at the thing.

And then -- stubbornly -- I walked forward, shoved a hand into my right coat pocket, pulled out two coins-- and handed one to Joseph.

"Here you go, Bud-- make a wish."

He paused, holding the quarter for about two seconds while looking thoughtfully at the falling water-- and then dropped his coin into the pool.

"Your turn, Mom."

Just as I was about to release mine, Joseph grabbed my arm.

"Wait! Mom- you're not gonna wish for a cure for diabetes, are you?"

"You bet I am."

"C'mon, Mom-- there are a lot worse things. What about AIDS? People are dying of AIDS. Or cancer?" he said, almost pleading. "This isn't so bad-- I can deal with this. Please, Mom - don't waste your wish."

I turned away from him, tossed my quarter, and watched it bounce off two stones before landing at the bottom.

"So what did you wish for?"

"What do you think?"

"Oh, Mom..." he said, shaking his head.

But then, he wrapped his arms around me.

And I'm not sure if he was thanking me or trying to make me feel better...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So really, Mom-- what are you gonna wish for if you get the wishbone?

Wine glass still raised, I look meaningfully into my son's large brown eyes.

"What do you think?"