Katy Tx, May 24, 2009–Last night was one of those extra special ones. It wasn’t a planned night. No, it was one of those magical, spontaneous type of evenings. 

I made my way into the kitchen and decided I was up to helping with the evening meal. It was taco night. My kids love taco night. So we all gathered in the kitchen, and came together. I put the salsa and chips out, Johnny took care of the caseo and shells. I stirred the meat and the kids put the fixings on the table.It was one of those nights were it was actually OK to play with your food! We were all talking, laughing, and generally just enjoying each others company. Finally we sat down to the table and ate together. We did as most families do I suppose, talking about school, sports, summer. We talked about everything, except my cancer. We were a family just living in the moment, normal, with no problems (with the exception of who was going to help clear the table).

I was just beside myself as I sat there, watching my family, be well a family. This average moment, to me, was an extraordinary one. I could see the ease on each of their faces, with their hands moving this way and that way. Micah calling out to Joshua and Joshua in turn laughing at Micah’s corny, silly, yet so funny jokes. Johnny with his “I am serious look” that always seems to be plastered on his face these days was gone, whipped away and had been replaced by a big silly grin across that wonderful face of his. He was wrapped up in this moment just as much as I was.

Yet, even as the night was winding down, as the kids were getting ready for bed, and as the dishes were finally being washed, the magic was still there. Johnny was putting the dishes away, and I was watching the boys, my boys, our boys, literally dance around the kitchen full of happiness, running this way, and sliding across the floor in their socks that way. I was completely caught up in the wonder of my family. Finally before we left the kitchen, I called the boys over to me, and handed them each a wish bone. Little did I know just how that one moment would affect me as the night went on. 

No, to most it wasn’t a spectacular moment. To some it probably seems very ordinary. Nothing really worth getting excited about. Most wouldn’t even rank it up there in the top 10 moments of their lives, feel the need to shout about it from the roof tops, or tell the world about it. Most would just move on as if it was nothing worth noting in the big scheme of things, no big deal in the great big book of life.
But you see, to me it was a rare, wonderful, moment. Why you may ask me? Because it was one of those moments, when we were simply us. A family, not a cancer family. There were no thoughts about Mommy’s illness, no worries about dying. No concerns about tomorrow. No, we were just us, happy, content, full of life right there in those moments.

The magic was contagious. It was like pixie dust had been sprinkled all over the four of us, and we had no cares, no worries in the world. We had each other, our small, completely imperfect, little, but mighty family to occupy our night with, and we were reveling in those moments. We moved from the kitchen into Johnny and I’s bedroom, the boys on the floor, Johnny and I on the bed watching “Monster’s Inc.” The boys kept talking about our trip to Disney World last year and how much fun we had while we were there, together. There I was lying in bed, just watching a movie with my husband and boys. My boys were laughing and smiling as children do. Once again, I was just completely taken back by this ordinary moment. Here they were, my boys, enjoying a simple pleasure, laughing, giggling, calling out my name to make sure I saw something funny. I just sat there, looking all around me taking every moment into my heart. 

After a while, the boys crawled up into our bed. We reminisced about when they were babies, laughed some more, tickled them both and then Micah said the most profound, heart warming, tugging, crushing and yet most tender thing. He looked straight into my eyes, and it me right in the heart. The words coming out were so honest and so tender, that I was speechless. “Mommy,” Micah said, “Member the wish bone? I wished tonight that you would get better and that your cancer would go away forever!” 

My heart was so full, and yet ached so much, and still it felt light, full of life and love. At first my voice was stuck in my throat. I wanted to speak, but couldn’t. So I took a deep breath in and finally I was able to speak. I pulled him close and kissed his cheeks. The honest, powerful truth, out of the mouths of babes! Micah’s wish, my hope, Joshua’s dream, and Johnny’s prayer, was just given life, sent into flight and the true belief in faith, trust and a little pixie dust was given real meaning in our home right then and there. 

No, there is no magic wand to wave around and make everything right, to cause everything to be better. But there is that deep, soul magic that keeps hope alive. And Hope is what I hold to, what my children hold to, and what my husband holds to. We hold to hope when there is nothing left to hold to. Hope is Life. Yes, life is tough and yes, life is mixed with hurt, and sadness, pain and sorrow. Still life is full of love, happiness and those ever quiet, always magical moments, when pixie dust and a little trust go a long way!

Christina Olachia

Contributing Writer Fight Pink