We were still a family, and we were stronger because of all that we had been through together. I had always loved Kari, but now I knew her deeply and, also, she understood me. Our marriage was stronger and even that felt like a miracle. Our love and respect for each other deepened.
And I had a stronger sense of faith, too. Maybe it wasn’t the same as anyone else’s, but it was all mine and it was very strong. I could say to anyone that I had proof that miracles happened and that my whispers were real. To everyone who doubted my whispers, I could explain with confidence that, if you don’t lose hope, things you can only dream about can come true. I had always felt my faith most strongly when I was in nature, but now I knew how to recognize it in unexpected places as well. I saw the brotherly faith in the lodge in our hunting camp. All of us bunked in an open room above a big, dark porch, talking late into the night and sharing the family folklore. I recognized it, too, when Jim and I flew loose-limbed over the hills on our dirt bikes, jumping high in the air, unconcerned about a fall. I know faith in my marriage. And I felt it coming from all the people I’d never meet who prayed and hoped for Emily. Although we didn’t know them, we always felt the steady stream of love and support coming from Emily’s supporters all over the world. Together we made this miracle.
My cousin Jodie kept texting me as we drove, asking where we were on the journey back home. She wanted to know the exact time we departed CHOP. Every stop we made along the way—when we needed a bathroom break or when I stopped for gas—I felt I needed to check in with Jodie, although I wasn’t completely sure why she was so concerned.
About forty-five minutes from Philipsburg, we hit that torrential downpour that the weather service had warned about, rain so dense it was hard to drive, and pulled over at a convenience store to get a drink and, of course, to update Jodie on our progress. I voice-texted her when we got off the freeway and made the turn home, and Kari texted her mom, who was waiting for us at our house along with many other family members and friends.
Jodie texted, telling me to stop at the bowling alley because she had a surprise waiting there for Emily. There were two state trooper cars and three fire trucks in the parking lot. We’d been amazed by the support from the firefighters, who did a boot drive for Emily. They’d stood at intersections holding out their big rubber boots, asking people to toss in money for Emily. That one day they raised $4,500! The state troopers said they were there to guide us home and make sure we were not stopped by traffic as we drove through town. Suddenly, our one-family car was part of a parade of fire trucks and police cars.
“You know people want to see Emily,” Kari said. “You might want to put her in the front seat so that if there is anyone on the street when we drive through, they can wave to her.
“It’s pouring out here.” I said. “I don’t think there’ll be anybody on the street.”
“I think you should do it anyway.”
Kari was right. Emily should be in front for her homecoming, even if there were just a few people hardy enough to stand on the streets to welcome her. It took us a minute to switch everything around so Emily’s booster seat was on the passenger side, but Emily was not impatient. She was enjoying the prospect of a parade to welcome her home. The only thing she really wanted, she told me, was to see Lucy.
The fire truck at the front of our little parade hit the siren as we started down the long road to the center of town. Emily stared out the window excited by how the town had turned out to welcome her.
“Daddy, look!” she said. “All the trees are covered in purple ribbons!”
Kari had her phone up, snapping pictures as we drove. Clusters of families, dozens of them, huddled under umbrellas and all wearing purple T-shirts they’d bought at fund-raisers. Hundreds of people stood at the roadside in the rain holding up purple “WE BELIEVE” signs.
At the center of town, there were many more, people hanging off the sides of trucks or standing up in the backs of pickups, faces of schoolkids poked out the windows of family cars and vans with voices yelling: “Welcome home, Emily!” “We love you, Emily!” “We believe!” Later we found out that they had let school out early so that all the kids who had contributed so much love and support, and so much birthday money, could see Emily return. Almost every car we saw had a purple “WE BELIEVE” sticker in the rear window.
Through the tears in my eyes, I looked back at Kari and saw the tears in hers. It dawned on me that Emily was not just our little girl; she was everyone’s.
We had another stop to make before we got home. Jodie told us to pull over at my grandmother’s house, which is right on the route. There we saw a photographer from our local paper, The Centre Daily Times, my grandma, mom, and Big Jim holding Lucy. I looked at Emily, so pale and with dark circles under her eyes and the feeding tube still inserted into her nose. It looked as though she was too weak to hold up her hand. Then she saw Lucy and the sparkle returned. I rolled down her window and
