Wilson is my son’s much-loved, torn and tattered “friend”. Their relationship began when my son and I used to wait at his sister’s soccer practices. I didn’t want him to feel left out watching all the other kids play, so I bought him his own ball. Within a short time, Wilson was going places with us, and my son started having conversations with him.

My boy would get out of bed in the morning, and before he would say a word to anyone else, he would greet his ball with a big hug and a jolly, “Ohhhh Wilson!” I’m not sure what this ball was saying to my kid, but apparently he’s quite a comedian. No person, place or thing could make my son laugh like Wilson.

But, not long ago, Wilson really started falling apart. His outer layer was peeling off and I was finding little bits of foam all over the house. I figured it was time to retire him to a top shelf somewhere. Someplace out of reach, but within view. The two of them would have to skip the long walks and holding hands, but they could continue their conversations, and still have some laughs.

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