Once Upon a Wish by Rachelle Sparks

machines—became their sanity.
    Months passed and they dressed Katelyn in green on St. Patrick’s Day, dyed eggs and made cookies on Easter, took her to see fireworks on the Fourth of July, and shopped for Crystal’s prom dress the following April.
    “Do you like this one?” Crystal asked, twirling in the dressing room.
    Katelyn, big, green eyes closed peacefully, pretty face resting against the side of her wheelchair, machines and IVs at her side, looked almost thoughtful as Crystal stepped out of her dressing room and modeled the floor-length, black and blue, iridescent gown.
    “See, she likes this one, too,” Crystal said, and the decision was made.

    They went to church every Sunday and on some Wednesdays. After one Wednesday night service, Sharon and Ray took Katelyn to a Wendy’s restaurant as they often did. When they sat down, Ray noticed a woman staring at them from across the dining room, and he wondered if she was someone they knew. With the mystery of a stranger and the eyes of a loving friend, the woman finally got up, walked across the dining area, bent down, and cupped her hands around Sharon’s, placing a napkin in her palm. She walked away as quietly as she had come, and Sharon looked at her husband.
    “That was kind of strange,” she said.
    Sharon shrugged and opened the napkin, her heart folding with every written word.
    Don’t worry, He is in control
, it said.
    Every moment of question or doubt, every emotional dip on this roller coaster, God sent Sharon a sign to stay strong, stay focused, and pray for Katelyn to open her eyes—a clear message to Sharon and Ray that someday she would.
    As the woman walked through the swinging door and into the night, Sharon reminded herself that they just had to keep doing what they were doing—keep praying through every twelve-hour storm, monitoring her around the clock, administering every med, checking every vital sign. No amount of tears could wash away their reality, and no amount of worry would make their situation better or worse. They just needed to have faith and keep living—and that meant exploring the world beyond the walls of their home, beyond the walls of the hospital, where they still went every single day.
   8   
    A week after Katelyn fell into the coma, her body had listened to her brain and started curling inward, inch by inch, like that of a baby. Her muscles weakened and gave up, pulling in, shutting down. Intense physical therapy slowly tugged back, one limb at a time, stretching and strengthening with boots and braces and creative therapy techniques.
    A month after bringing her home, when Sharon called Katelyn’s oncologist, Dr. Jeff Rubintz, for prescription refills, he asked how Katelyn was doing.
    “She’s still storming every day,” Sharon said, “but she’s still here.”
    Amazed to hear those words, shocked that Katelyn was still alive, Dr. Rubintz said, “Let’s bring her in and see how she’s doing.”
    Having never seen anyone in Katelyn’s condition live longer than forty-eight hours, Dr. Rubintz was still unsure whether or not she would pull through, but just in case, he recommended that she continue physical therapy.
    “If she does wake up, we want to make sure she can walk,” he said, and though the doctor still looked uncertain, still had doubts, Sharon found hope in the fact that even
he
was talking about the possibility of Katelyn’s waking up. Never imagining she would find comfort from the hospital, Sharon was glad to have somewhere to go every day, a place where a team of people, of doctors and nurses, were rooting for them, if quietly.
    In addition to outings that allowed Sharon to feel somewhat “normal,” she took Katelyn to physical therapy at St. Jude hospital every day for two hours. With the help of tools and therapists, Katelyn’s body would uncurl during the day, and every night, Ray and Sharon would watch it fold back into itself.
    A few months after bringing Katelyn home, the