“Hayes’ final home game.”
But not as much as watching Caleb learn how to transfer himself from a wheelchair into bed.
When two accessible seats near the field became available, I bought them before I could talk myself out of it.
The charge left my bank account looking frighteningly empty.
I didn’t care.
Two accessible seats near the field became available
I told myself I hadn’t paid all that money for a good view. I’d paid for one afternoon when Caleb wouldn’t have to think first about what he couldn’t do.
For weeks, Caleb counted down the days.
On the morning of the game, he wore the Hayes jersey.
“You sure this doesn’t make me look five?”
I hadn’t paid all that money for a good view.
“You’ve owned it since you were eight.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s vintage now.”
He grinned.
The second we entered the stadium, his entire face lit up.
The noise rolled through the concrete corridors. Music was playing somewhere beneath the crowd. Vendors were shouting. People in team colors moved around us in waves.
The second we entered the stadium, his entire face lit up.
Then we came through the tunnel toward the field.
Caleb stopped rolling.
“Mom.”
“What?”
He inhaled deeply.
“Mom, I can smell the grass!”
Caleb stopped rolling.
I laughed.
For that moment, every skipped meal felt worth it.
For the first time since the accident, I wasn’t watching Caleb adjust to a place that hadn’t been made for him.
The stadium had already made room.
Unfortunately, someone else was about to decide he shouldn’t have it.
