It’s not a fairy tale. Donna and I are not close, even now. Some things don’t fully heal. But she’s better than she was. She comes to Mia’s basketball games sometimes. She sits in the stands and cheers, and I’ve caught her crying more than once, watching my daughter fly down the court.
She never did catch another bouquet, as far as I know. But I don’t think she’s looking for them anymore. I think she finally understood it was never about the flowers.
It was about the heart part.
Mia’s fifteen now. She still can’t walk. That never changed, and I’ve made my peace with the truth that it probably never will. But if you met her, the wheelchair would be about the tenth thing you’d notice, if you noticed it at all. You’d notice the way she talks, fast and funny, three stories deep before you’ve caught the first one. You’d notice the way a room turns toward her. You’d notice that she is, without question, the kindest and the funniest and the smartest person you’re likely to meet.
