And I understand their fear; I am not so certain of my own courage that I can look down on theirs.

But they were wrong, and they were wrong in the most consequential way a person can be wrong, because Maya was never a label.

She was never a diagnosis or a burden or a set of anticipated difficulties.

She was, and is, a whole and particular person, with a fierce will and a quick delight and a stubborn streak and a laugh that fills a room, a person who works harder for her victories than most people ever have to and who greets each one with a joy so complete it can bring a grown man to tears.

So when I think of the twenty families now, I do not feel anger, and I try not to feel superiority, which would be its own kind of blindness.