Candles

Mile Marker 82:

I want candles this year.   Lots of them.

I've sealed last September 17th tightly into a cardboard box and labeled it BEFORE.  All those wishes I made last year, torn and tossed into the air like shredded newspaper.

It’s the beginning of Year 42:  a brave and stable number, strong like a high school football player with shoulder pads and two muscular legs.

I am a mixture of thankful and wistful today.  Divided, hesitant, and slightly off-kilter, like my gait. 

So I'm sending wishes in all directions -- forward and backward -- To infinity and beyond!   This year I wish for my wishes to count.

My first candle stands for GOOD HEALTH.   This, I wish every time I toss pennies into a fountain and spy the first star.  “Good health for me and for those I love,” I whisper again and again.  Without good health, I’ve realized, life is so, so difficult.  But with it, anything is possible.

My next candles are for PEOPLE.  Those who’ve appeared miraculously in times of trouble and those whose constant presence keeps me holding on tight.  People who’ve powered me with medicine and technology, humor and encouragement.   From the nameless paramedic who told me, “Get ready, honey.  It’s gonna hurt like a %!@$&!”  To my prosthetist Tim who, after 5 socket fittings, still calls me a Rock Star.

PEOPLE like my parents and grandparents, sister and brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephew.  Friends.  A tall, bright candle for each of my trauma surgeons.  There'll be so many flickering flames that my neighbor will call the fire department.  All you candles… You know who you are.

And along with those, I need two candles for GIVE and TAKE.  Because just when I fear I’ve drained my caregivers dry, they return, renewed with sunflowers, cards, and plastic containers to wash my hair.   To bottle up their energy would be to light the city.  My wish now is to trace that web backwards.  I wish for my turn to give.

I’ll light the next candles for STRENGTH.  One for each person I’ve met at rehab -- for Val, Dean, Dan, Frank, Sylvia, Michelle, Joanna, Michael, Ilana, and Zach -- and for those whose names I don't know.  I wish for their paths to be smoother and more clearly marked.  I wish them the force to push aside boulders, and tissues to wipe their sweat and tears.  I wish them Superheroes, like I've had.

I'll light another candle for TODAY and all the promise it holds.  Wishes for rest.  Wishes for play.  Wishes for crunchy leaves and pumpkins and the fresh smell of fall.  I'll make wish after wish to celebrate this new year.  Number 42.   The year that comes AFTER.  

And when the wax drips into the icing, you will know I’ve moved on to TOMORROW.

Tomorrow's candle holds wishes for new directions.  Ideas and interests I’ve only just discovered.  Wishes to spread my wings and branches.  To volunteer.  To join the teams that have embraced me with their momentum.  Tomorrow holds wishes for HOPE.

And when the dust settles, I’ll light a candle for YESTERDAY.  I wish to slit that “before” box open and let it know I haven’t forgotten.  To look into that whirling confetti mess and sort through those old wishes.  I wish to reassemble the pieces before they blow away.

And, finally, one candle for GOOD LUCK.  Of course.

I’ve heard if you reveal your wishes they won’t come true.  But I wonder, How can they come true if you DON’T reveal them?

I’ll need a very big cake this year. 

So get your sunglasses ready.  The light will be visible for miles and miles.  You’ll see it wherever you are.