Two Children Made It There

A week later, I bought a small wooden frame.

I placed Mary’s yellow daisy inside it against cream-colored paper.

Underneath, I wrote only the date of graduation.

No explanation.

It didn’t need one.

I hung it in our hallway beside my favorite photograph of the twins.

Mary was fourteen in the picture.

Aaron was beside her.

She had one arm around his shoulders while he pretended he wanted her to let go.

The red dress was cleaned and returned to Mary’s closet.

But this time, looking at it didn’t feel like looking at something she’d never gotten to use.

Aaron had changed that.

People remembered the strange teenager who walked across the graduation stage in a red dress.

I remembered something else.

I remembered my son standing beneath that stage afterward, putting a tiny yellow flower into my hand.

And when I looked at the photograph beside the framed daisy, I no longer saw one child who graduated and one who didn’t.

Mary had found her own way there.