Falling Stars

epilogue

The slight breeze rippling through the air offers a moment of relief from the summer heat, though the warmth of the sun beaming down is more welcoming than overbearing. I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds, allowing my senses to indulge in all that is around me. My fingertips fidget with the hem of my skirt as I try to sit comfortably atop the metal bleachers. I can't seem to sit still, though my nerves don't come from a place of negativity. I'm jittery with pride.

My mother runs a hand over the back of my head knowingly. Beau sits to her left, their hands intertwined in a way that has become as natural as breathing over these last few months. I smile to myself.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hartley exclaims to my right. She practically jumps out of her seat to grab her camera, pointing the lens down at the field below. Joy radiates across her features as clearly as the sun shines down on us now. "It's starting!"

I share in her enthusiasm as I return my attention to the ground. I can hardly believe this day has finally arrived. Though it feels like both a mere minute and an eternity has passed since school first started, I still have difficulty wrapping my head around the fact that the seniors are graduating.

Mrs. Hartley passes the camera to her husband as the seniors begin the trek to their seats, accompanied by the echoing of faint music from the football field's speakers. Her hands are shaking and tears of happiness line her vision.

My reaction mirrors that of Haven's mother's. I grasp my mom's hand tightly as my gaze focuses on Haven as she crosses the field. She is luminous this morning, glowing as brightly as a ball of fire. Clad in a red cap and gown and a million-watt smile, it is impossible to tear my gaze away from my sunshine girl.

While the rest of Haven's class occupies their designated seats, I watch with pride as Haven continues walking up to the stage that has been set up in the center of the field. She takes her place next to the podium, standing to the left of our principal as he begins his speech about what an honor it is to witness the next generation of graduates take the stage. In all honesty, I'm hardly able to tune into his words. I'm too captivated by Haven. Her gaze flits around the crowd until I swear she spots me. Our gazes lock and her smile grows wider, if that is even possible.

My eyes well with tears. Half a year ago everybody was worried Haven may never make it to this day. I can still remember the hospital rooms and the way Haven's illness had her in a chokehold—the long weeks of her slumber, only surviving off of the hope she would soon wake.

When Haven did break her coma, she remained very weak. It had been a struggle for her to regain physical abilities. Many doctors told her simple tasks may never be possible again. But my girl is strong and fatally stubborn. Nowadays, she is almost back to full health. She still needs help with a handful of tasks every once in a while, like remembering specific events from her past and even walking—it is very hard for her to do so without her braces. There are certain activities she will truly never be able to do again, such as tumbling—which she loved so much—but she is here and she is learning and thriving, and that is all that truly matters.