I remember, when I was a very little girl and my mother a beautiful young woman, that every time she was dressing in those wide skirted, narrow-waisted gowns that made her, in my eyes, look like a fairy princess, there would be a knock on the door. A few minutes later there would be a clear cellophane box on the dressing table, with a corsage of orchids and roses.

I loved looking at them, nestled on the damp cotton wool, with their breath misting the cellophane. They were magical for me, those flowers, delivered to the door by the florist.

She wore no jewels, just the flowers, and they were beautiful, mysterious and romantic.

So, my first ambition was born… to have flowers delivered to my door by some unknown Prince Charming, before he whisked me away to dance the whole night through.

It never happened, of course, though I learned to dance and stayed hopeful.

Oh, I have had flowers given to me, many times, and each time is wonderful. I even had flowers delivered to my door once… but as they came with a ‘Condolences’ card, it wasn’t quite what I had dreamed about.

The fulfilment of an ambition is seldom what we think it will be.

Another ambition of mine, when my children were small, was to walk down the street with my tall, handsome sons either side of me.  That one was granted, though I hadn’t planned for the jokes about being a mini-mum, or a hobbit.

But ambitions shift with changes in life. Now the wish of my heart is to see my sons happy.  Most parents will know this feeling, but it is rather more complex when one son hurts to see his brother struggling to come to terms with the fact he may never walk down a street again.

There is no magic wand to wave, I cannot ‘kiss it better’ like a scraped knee, and it isn’t just a question of time and patience.

For myself there is the completely illogical guilt that I failed to protect my sons. That Nick was attacked as an adult, miles from my home, living the life he had chosen and that he loved… well, that doesn’t come into it. I’m his Mum.  Alex’s heart was broken, seeing his brother lying there, watching the valiant daily battle against an impossible recovery… well, I ought to have been able to protect him from that too. How, I’m not sure, and logic really doesn’t enter into emotion.

Yet there is a point beyond which one has to stop protecting people, no matter how much we love them, so that they have the opportunity to experience for themselves and thus to learn and grow.  It is, perhaps, the hardest lesson for a parent to learn.

So now, the wish of my heart is to see them both happy and it is not as simple as it sounds. I want Alex able to live his life knowing his brother is ‘okay’. Which means that Nick has to walk the tightrope between accepting the limitations imposed on his body, so that he can be happy, and fighting to surpass them so he knows he has done all he can.

We do not know what is possible, so we disregard ‘impossible’.

If we aim for the moon and miss, we might just hit a star.

s,