I don’t actually remember how Julie and I first heard about the Magic Wings Butterfly Conservatory and Gardens in Massachusetts, although I suspect Dana told us about it. A few weeks after the diagnosis, on an impulse, the three of us piled into the car and headed north.

Julie and I stepped into the main conservatory room, Schuyler walking between us, and stopped, holding our breaths. We were standing in a greenhouse, warm and full of plants and paths and a koi-filled pond with a burbling waterfall. Of course, there were butterflies, about four thousand of them. They flitted lazily through the air, landing on feeders or leaves or visitors. The visual effect was stunning. Taken one at a time, the butterflies were tranquil. When seen en masse, they became a frenzy of motion, completely silent but suggesting cacophony. We walked slowly down the paths, Julie and I silent in our thoughts as we had been for weeks, and Schuyler wide-eyed and breathless at the sight of so many butterflies.

I watched Julie carefully. I saw the sadness in her eyes beginning to melt away. She carried Schuyler and held out her arm, pointing at some of the impossibly big specimens and hoping one would take advantage of her offered hand and light there. I saw how in this place, maybe the most ethereal place we’d ever been, Julie wasn’t the mother of a broken child. Schuyler didn’t speak, but neither did we. Neither did anyone here.

We sat down on a bench and watched the butterflies swirl around us. One landed on Julie’s bare shoulder, and she laughed as its feet tickled her skin. A few minutes later, another landed on her forehead. Schuyler sat still for as long as she could, but eventually she began following the butterflies as they flew lazily past, quietly stalking one until another caught her attention.

When did I become so serious? I thought as I watched Schuyler and listened to Julie’s laugh. When did I turn into such a sad person?

I walked over to a little bronze fairy sculpture that held a feeder, consisting of a small glass bowl and a sponge soaked in sugar water. There were a few butterflies sitting on the sculpture’s tiny hand, and as I held out my camera to try to get as close of a photo as I could, a giant Blue Morpho landed on the back of my hand. He was huge, and yet barely registered any weight at all. I held my breath as he slowly opened and closed his wings. A few seconds later, he took to the air.

I looked down to see Schuyler watching me, a curious little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Neither of us made a sound.