The Wall Behind the Divider
A folding divider stood against the far wall.
Dr. Collins slowly pulled it aside.
Behind it stretched a huge mural covered with hundreds of colorful handprints.
Tiny hands.
Teenage hands.
Some were painted bright red or yellow.
Others were surrounded by stars, flowers, dinosaurs, and rainbows.
Beneath each handprint was a handwritten sentence.
None mentioned illness.
They were about life.
I’m going camping.
I’m finally eating Grandma’s cookies.
I’m learning to ride my bicycle.
I’m sleeping in my own bed.
I’m going swimming.
I want pancakes every Saturday.
The dreams were not extraordinary.
They were beautifully ordinary.
Dr. Collins knelt beside Martha and handed her a tray containing blue paint.
“This wall belongs to every child who rings the bell.”
Martha looked toward an empty space near the center.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“It would not be complete without you.”
She carefully placed her hand into the paint.
Then pressed it against the wall.
When she lifted it, a perfect blue handprint remained.
Dr. Collins gave her a marker.
“What would you like to write?”
Martha thought for almost a full minute.
Everyone waited.
Finally, she printed nine small words beneath her hand:
