Each was, for her, a quiet victory.

The first morning I drove out to visit her new house, I found her outside in the sun with a yellow hose, watering a row of bright bougainvillea.

She looked up at the sound of my car and waved, sun on her face, entirely herself.

“Look at these, Isabel!” she called out, proud as anything.

“I really think this one is going to make it.” I laughed out loud, walking up the drive toward her.

“Mom, you used to kill every plant you ever brought home.” “Well,” she said, smiling, “I’m learning how to start over.”