My grandma owned a large Mahogany bookcase that graced the long wall of her personal study. It was an heirloom from her great-grandfather that contained paraphernalia from her past - all things precious and filled with memories of a life well-lived. The top shelf was home to a large jar of buttons, and a thick layer of dust. I used to spend a lot of time with Grandma when I was little. Whenever I visited, I headed straight to her study, dragging one of the small kitchen stools behind me. Then, pulling myself up gently onto the seat of the stool, I would stand on my tippy toes, teeter forward, and reach eagerly for the jar.

Once in my possession, I would empty the contents in a vast kaleidoscope of colour onto her bed, and delight in gathering them up in my hands and allowing them to slip through my fingers, a few at a time; pretty polished little memories of all shapes and sizes.

Why do you have so many buttons, Grandma?

My twenty-year-old self once asked her.

Oh, my child, they are so much more than just buttons.

She replied with a smile and a deep and satisfying sigh.

I have collected them over the course of my life, each one unique. You see... they were all at one time lost... and then I found them. Each time I found a button, I would make a fervent wish; a wish that represented a special request or dream of mine. I would write it down and place it in the jar with the button, and then pray with the strong belief that my wishes would each be granted. For a long time, each wish that I made, did come true. And the last one I ever made was when you were born.

If they made you so happy Grandma, why did you stop?

Because I realised that an old woman like me should not be wasting time on frivolity in the final years of her life, but rather preserving dreams for the next generation... for you. So I never stopped collecting buttons, but I did stop collecting them for myself. And now, as I head into my final days, I want you to have them, Sissy. But use them wisely, my child, for they are a gift.

And so it was that when my Grandma passed the week after, from this world into the next, she left me not just with a lifetime of memories to treasure, but with a jar of dreams to build upon and lead me to my future. My own journey to collect the strays that escaped frayed buttonholes or wriggled free from loose threads would now begin.

Throughout my life, I always remembered Grandma's closing words to me:

... use them wisely, my child, for they are a gift.

And so each time I found a new button, I thought of Grandma and her sacrifice, before choosing to put the button in the jar for safekeeping, rather than use it straight away. It became my rainy day jar of dreams.

When my Mom fell ill during the summer, it devastated me. Day after day I withdrew a fresh button from the jar, repeated my desperate wish and desire that she be made well again, and placed the written wish together with the button back into the jar. Day after day, she continued to deteriorate. Very few come back from stage 4. The oncologist had been frank from the start.

The days turned to weeks. And the weeks turned with the Autumn leaves - drifting... fading... on red rust in the cool breeze. My jar was being depleted, along with my hope. Sitting in the middle of the park, the days grew ever shorter. A few buttons clenched in fisted hands inside the pockets of my trench coat. The bench... hard and cold. I watched as children played on the nearby swings. I considered that perhaps there really was nobody fulfilling wishes on the other side. I withdrew a hand from my pocket and uncurled my fingers to reveal the brightly coloured tokens. I watched them roll slowly across my palm. Perhaps my Grandma had simply reimagined old folk tales; entertaining little stories to keep her granddaughter amused. It made me sad. Was our existence and hope really that futile? I wondered out loud, surprised at the sound of my own voice.

Feeling a light tap on my shoulder, I turned to look into the face of an angel.

Are you ok?

She whispered, her blond curls bouncing in time with her feet as she leaned in against the back of the bench.

I suddenly realised I had been crying. I turned to wipe away a stray tear and then looked back at her and smiled.

I will be. Don't worry.

Why do you have buttons at the park?

She asked, her eyes darting curiously between my palms and my face.

Forgive me, I'm so sorry if she's being a nuisance...

I noticed, for the first time, the woman standing, talking... beside the child.

Carrie, come, let's leave the lady alone.

Truth be told, I actually welcomed the intrusion... and so I sat there and told them both about the story of the buttons, and about my Mom.

For a while Carrie simply stared at me, and then, with childlike innocence, she blurted out...

Perhaps the reason that your Mom is not getting better is that you are wasting your buttons on lots of little wishes. Maybe for something this bad you need to collect lots more buttons and make one big wish with all of them instead!

A year later, I lay awake in bed, tears brimming in my eyes.

_{The year before I had taken her advice... that little girl from the park...
And when my jar was filled and I couldn't fit another button inside, I had taken the jar outside and walked into the night. I found a quiet space, lay down, and gazed at the stars, twinkling from here to eternity.
And then I opened the jar, closed my eyes, and offered my gift to the heavens. As I threw the buttons into the sky, they caught the stars and appeared to dance into the light before disappearing altogether.}

I rolled over in my bed and stared at the empty jar on my bedside table. All of Grandma's buttons were gone. All of my buttons were gone. I would have to start collecting all over again.

My phone started vibrating. I reached under my pillow and held it up to check the caller id.

One thing I knew for certain. The little girl had been right. I had to go all in. It required a child-like faith. But it had been worth it.

I understood that the day would come when another star would have to twinkle in the sky on the other side of eternity. But that day was not today.

I smiled and answered the phone.

Hey, Mom, we still on for lunch tomorrow?