ELIOT, Maine — She was the little girl with the toughest knees, and a tougher, yet honey-sweet spirit.

While kids her age took their first, wonky steps in diapers, Brooklyn Cormier did not. When her fledgling friends walked into the first day of preschool, she didn't follow, and instead, stayed home.

And while the bottom of her twin brother's sneakers were covered in grass and dirt after an evening of play in the yard, hers were not. Instead, it was her knees, stained in green and brown earth.

Because she crawled. Everywhere, she crawled. And then, she rose.

It was a frosty February evening, as balmy houselights, muted by fog, brightened a modest Eliot, Maine, neighborhood. There were leftover Valentine’s Day decorations in the window of house number 144. A minivan sat in the driveway, and a trail of dropped McDonald’s french fries led the way to the front steps. The street was snow-coated.

Inside, Shelby Cormier, 42, sat on her parents’ faded living room couch. She watched as her 4-year-old twins, Brooklyn and Logan, emitted their usual evening energy. There were some toy gun pops, sounding over a background stream of TV noise, and more than a few games of hide and seek.

“Brooklyn, come show these people what you’ve been working on,” Shelby called. The little girl hurried around the corner, her flower print leggings wearing against the carpet as she crawled.

Starting from one couch, with the couch across the room as her hopeful resting place, Brooklyn rose from her knees, arms outstretched in front of her. She extended fully up on her toes, and within seconds, propelled herself forward, rickety and teetering, making it five steps to the other couch. She retreated to the floor.

Diagnosed as an infant first with periventricular leukomalacia, a brain injury more commonly known as PVL, and then with cerebral palsy, crawling is the easiest way for Brooklyn to get around at home right now. She's able to take some staggered, rigid steps on her own, sometimes upward of 20, thanks to a prior surgery and hundreds of hours of physical therapy, but it’s still uncomfortable for her. When she goes out in public, she uses a walker.

Raising twins, one with a permanent movement disorder requiring attention, time and money she doesn't have, was something Shelby thought she’d at least be doing with her husband Pete by her side. In 2015, Peter Cormier, a North Hampton, New Hampshire, police officer, died suddenly of a heart attack at age 46.

“Left with 1-year-old twins to raise by myself, and one with medical challenges that at that point I didn’t really even know what that was going to mean,” Shelby said.

Pete’s funeral procession closed major roads that October, leading to the Dover cemetery where he is buried. He was an 18-year veteran of the North Hampton Police Department, a sniper team leader on the Seacoast Emergency Response Team, and previously served in the Air National Guard. But finally becoming a dad in his mid-40s, Shelby said, was his life’s dream realized.

“We talk about him all the time and how much we miss him,” Shelby said while adjusting Brooklyn’s clothes, admiring her pigtails. They live in Eliot with Shelby’s parents, Nancy and Bob “Bear” Fontaine, who are retired and able to take care of the twins while Shelby works as a sixth-grade social studies teacher at Oyster River Middle School. They moved in after Pete died. It's the house Shelby grew up in.

There are five of them living in the just over 1,000-square-foot home, with toys strewn across every inch of carpet. Brooklyn and Logan's shared bedroom is a mecca of stuffed animals, with two small beds situated side by side donning Minnie and Mickey Mouse pillow cases. Dozens of little shoes line the way upstairs.

Shelby’s mom takes Brooklyn to physical therapy most days, and Logan goes with them. In one week, they drive more than 200 miles to and from therapy appointments.

“Some people wonder, 'OK it’s been three years, why are you guys still here?’” Shelby said, referring to living with her parents. “Well as you can see, this is why I’m still here. Raising now 4-year-old twins by myself. I need help.”

They bought a house just up the street that remains unoccupied. They’re just not ready, Shelby said.

Family and friends have watched the now-single mother go through the unimaginable. But she remains unbreakable and perpetually resolute. "Individually, the parts of her story are all unique," said her older sister Stephanie Tarr. "And then you put them all together…”

As Shelby rested on the couch this particular weekday evening, for most, it would be sensory overload. Brooklyn and Logan race each other; Logan on his feet and Brooklyn on her knees. When asked about what she likes to do, Brooklyn said, “I like to race my brother because he’s fast.”

She added, “He beats me all the time.”

On April 23, Brooklyn and family will travel to St. Louis, Missouri, to undergo her second surgery, which follows a selective dorsal rhizotomy she had in 2017. Shelby said the path they’ve chosen to go is “controversial,” but mostly because it’s not widely known about or recognized in the Northeast. She said their St. Louis doctor, T.S. Park, who has done more than 4,000 SDR procedures, is “the best in the world for this,” and she wants to get the word out to other families who have children with cerebral palsy.

The initial SDR procedure, which Brooklyn had to be selected for, consisted of cutting sensory nerve fibers that stem from the muscles and enter the spinal cord. Shelby said it's considered the least invasive procedure with the best recovery time, but also a "one-shot game" that's irreversible. With a goal of reducing spasticity, the condition that makes it difficult for Brooklyn to walk and move fluidly, it’s the only surgical procedure that can provide permanent reduction, according to St. Louis Children’s Hospital. Prior to the SDR, Brooklyn couldn't take steps using a walker or even stand on her own.

It also cost more than $40,000.

Her next surgery, known as a PERCS procedure, is a lengthening of the tendons to relieve contractures; what Shelby calls "the icing on the cake, the cherry on top." Essentially, it’s the next step in Brooklyn living her life freely on her feet. The procedure is meant to help those with cerebral palsy get their heels down to the floor and their knees straightened.

The PERCS surgery ranges between $8,000 and $12,000, and requires a pre-commitment of five days a week of physical therapy, much of which Shelby is forced to pay out of pocket because insurance only covers a certain number of hours per week. Most recently, they’ve been splitting time between Project Walk in Stratham, New Hampshire, New Beginnings Physical Therapy in Sanford, Maine, and NAPA Center Boston in Waltham, Massachusetts. It's estimated medical costs are around 10 times higher for children with cerebral palsy, and Shelby said New England is one of the most expensive areas of the country when it comes to treatment and care.

"We're going to St. Louis no matter what," Shelby said. "I'll travel anywhere, to the end of the world."

She recently totaled up therapy costs for the last year, and stared at a number of $75,000.

Shelby said Brooklyn knows well she has cerebral palsy, and that they’re going back to St. Louis for her legs. Though a gregarious, agreeable kid, Brooklyn's preferred conversation is about toys or a TV show. She stutters when asked about her disability; she's still very young to grasp the reality.

“It doesn’t seem to bother her as much right now as it bothers me,” Shelby said. “Of course, you know, I don’t want her to be left behind. I worry about when she starts school in the fall ... her being left behind when the other kids go off to recess.”

Last year, Shelby signed Brooklyn up for soccer, where she played goalie with her walker. Some would argue the hardware gave her a goal-saving advantage, but her teammates embraced her. She was just like every other player, and even got to play “coach” from time to time with her own pink whistle.

“She has that personality and that temperament that she’s just very happy-go-lucky and accepting of it,” Shelby said.

Shelby called her daughter “a diva, she’s all girl," just like many 4-year-olds. Brooklyn loves her dollhouse, a stuffed animal named Shlumpy, and playing veterinarian. Her favorite place to go is Target, and she adores Goldfish snack crackers.

“She always saves the red goldfish for me when I come home from school,” Shelby laughed.

This coming fall, Brooklyn and Logan will start pre-K at Eliot Elementary School. They’re best friends, and take care of each other. Shelby expressed it’s challenging having one twin with so many more needs than the other. But Logan doesn’t seem to mind; he’s just concerned about maintaining his winning streak in those races with his sister. He wants to be a police officer like his dad.

"Everything I do is for them, and it’s non-stop," Shelby said. "I literally feel like I’m running a rat race. Running from school, to home, to therapy, to phone calls, to insurance companies, to paperwork, to doctors' offices. I do feel that my whole identity is them right now and that's OK. They need me."

"... It’s all about them. They are the greatest gift that Pete could have given me."

This story is Part 1 of 3. See Part 2 "Tears from heaven" and Part 3 "She rises" in menu at top of page.

HOW TO HELP: gofundme.com/help-brooklyn-walk