Uplifting Despite Circumstances

An incredible group of women were traveling on a bus when they got into a huge car accident and ended up passing away. Unfortunately, there was a long wait to get into Heaven, so an angel came over and told them they belonged in Heaven, but a bunch of paperwork needed to be done. They’d need to wait in Hell for a while, but it wouldn’t be… forever. “Don’t worry,” he said. “A representative will come and get you soon.”

The afterlife must be a LITTLE bit like Earth because things didn’t go as expected, and after a while, the women had been in Hell for a very long time. 

Finally, Heaven got a call from someone down below. “You’ve gotta come and get these ladies; they’re making a mess of it down here! They’re ruining everything!” He sighed with exasperation. “They’ve already started all these fundraisers. They opened a hospital and have started helping the needy and making things easier for people who are being tortured. But the worst thing—the thing we can’t abide…” He took a deep breath. “They raised enough money for us to get air conditioning, and it’s being installed tomorrow!”

Ironically, we heard that joke on the way to the cancer center because that’s exactly what Indy did after she brought me to treatments. She smiled and waved at patients. She complimented a somber woman on her beautiful blouse and gave an older man a bumblebee pin. She lifted everyone up, and it seemed like she had left a trail of happiness in her wake.

“Did you notice there aren’t a lot of kids here?” I asked her.

“Yeah, why is that?” she said, looking around.

“If kids have cancer, they go to the children's hospital, and not many parents bring their kids here. People under 18 weren’t even allowed to the Huntsman during COVID.”

Indy went on to say that the cancer center is happier than she expected. “The staff is nice, and most patients are in such a positive mood.” 

I suppressed my surprise and nodded. “I think, for the most part, people here are positive because they’re fighting hard to hang onto life. They’re grateful for what they have…” I’ve visited the cancer center many times, and although Indy went with me when she was younger, I didn’t realize she’d even been thinking about the Huntsman when I went there. It surprised me she thought it would be sadder. 

“Fighting cancer IS tough,” I finally said, “but it does put things in perspective.”

Before we left the center, I watched as Indy continued making the day better for everyone around, and then it hit me: Most people were positive there, but Indy lightened everyone's moods. She saw the good and inspired others to be brave enough to see it, too.

After we drove home, I gave Indy the biggest hug. “People there wouldn’t even know what you’re experiencing,” I said. “I overheard you talking to your boyfriend the other day. I know this must be so hard on you. I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For wanting to make other people’s days better even though I know you’re going through tough things too.” 

Indy smiled through her tears and looked at me with so much love.

“I know you’re going to beat this, Mama. I just know it.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Indy, you are amazing.” She made my day brighter, just like she did for so many other cancer patients. I just hope she can feel the happiness she brings into my life each and every day.

Appreciate What You Have

 It’s surreal thinking how long ago my grandma passed away, and yet she continues to have such a positive impact on my life. I thought about this while in the MRI machine for 2 1/2 hours last week and remembered something my grandma said to me before she died…

Maybe memories like this keep popping up because the 30th of January was the day my little boy, Zeke, passed away so many years ago. He was only alive for 2 1/2 months, and he stayed at Primary Children’s almost the whole time. It was the most horrific, harrowing experience of my whole life, and I think taking him off of life support is the worst thing I will ever do. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully move past it.

One of the only positive things that grew from that experience was how close I got to my grandma. She started calling every day while he was alive just to make sure I was okay. And sometimes, she’d call more than once a day after he passed. 

Her health began failing a few years later, and she told me something sobering during one of our many conversations. “Elisa, you see me in St. George about 2–4 times a year. Usually, you’re here a day. Well, I’m getting a lot worse, and I started thinking if I passed away next year, that only gives us about four more days together.”

This comment hit me. Four more days. It’s odd how we think about the time each year and the importance we put on menial tasks…things we do to fill our days and years. Conversely, I DO recognize that having a purpose is important, but in the process of trying to attain our goals, we often lose perspective.

Oddly enough, on the anniversary of my first son’s death, I overheard a man on a business call. He said, “I’m a doer, and you’re a doer! Do you know why I surround myself with doers?! So we can get more done!”

I saw so much of myself in that man but wondered if he understood that no one ends up on their deathbed, asking to be surrounded by piles of money—no one asks for crap that they bought. They ask for their family! And if we haven’t spent quality time with the people we love, will they be there for us? How many “days” have we spent with THEM? Did they feel like a priority? 

We’d been in line, and this man ended up butting everyone, bypassing dozens of people in his hurry through life! People gaped at each other, stunned, but that’s when Mike noticed something strange. 

“He left this!” Mike held up an electronic device the man had forgotten, something we knew he’d need later. Being inconsiderate and rushing around so much cost him time in the long run! It just goes back to my grandma’s point about time. 

It’s sad because after my grandma made that comment about how many days we had left together, she actually died within about six months, and I only got one more day with her. One. Single. Day…

So, I just wanted to remind you to appreciate the time you have. Appreciate your family and friends. Never let a day go by when they don’t know how much you love them because life is unpredictable, and I’ve come to believe that the most valuable thing any of us can do is make a positive difference for the people around us, especially the people we love. 

It’s cliché for a reason, but now is all we really have. Make it count.

Hope from a Stranger

“Someone said cancer is overtaking my life,” I typed, sobbing as I messaged my friend, Jess. I thought about sharing more, then erased the words several times. Most of my friends and family don’t understand what this journey is like, especially at this age. Often, I hold back, censoring myself because I don’t want to complain and push people away. It’s a tough place to be, but Jess is around my age, honest, and usually so understanding.

I’ve leaned on her quite a bit, to the point that I felt like I needed additional help; that’s when I started counseling again last year.

“You’d do better in group sessions,” the counselor said after only a few months.

“Why?” I asked. I’ve never had a counselor do something like that before.

“They’d understand your circumstances because they’re going through it too. I know what I’m supposed to say, but I’ve never had terminal cancer… I think you need to talk with people who understand.”

Her honesty was refreshing, despite that I haven’t dared to start group sessions again. I did them a while ago, and many of the terminal patients I met have died, and that's beyond devastating.

“Do I…” I typed the words, so nervous my hands shook. “Do I talk about cancer a lot?” I finally asked Jess something that's worried me for months. If anyone would respond with kindness and reassurance, I thought it would be her.

“If I’m honest,” she wrote back, “you talk about cancer all the time. It’s already hard enough SEEING that you’re suffering, but now your kids and husband hear about it all the time, too. You need to stop letting cancer ruin your life.”

I bawled after that; my face puffed, and my eyes turned red.

Luckily, I’d calmed down when my mom talked with me. “Elisa, you know how I’m playing the drums in that band?”

“Yes,” I said, setting concerns aside and feeling so happy for her. “You guys are awesome!”

“They’ll be over tonight, and they want to meet you.” She paused for effect. “Bill, the lead guitarist, said you're welcome to jam with us.”

So I decided to practice with them, but it was a struggle because I wasn’t feeling my best. “Are you okay?” my mom asked at one point. “Are you in a lot of pain today?”

I shook my head, lying. I’d already felt terrified about oversharing, but after reading the texts from Jess, my fears grew. “I’m great. Really.” But I’m not. I’m undergoing radiation again AND new cancer treatments because the cancer is growing. They're exhausting and debilitating. They make you nauseous and sick all the time. And unless someone has experienced this first-hand, I don’t think they truly understand.

Just after noon, I met everyone in the band. Denver, the rhythm guitarist, spoke with me for a little while. His kind nature and Scottish accent immediately drew me in. I had the best conversation with him and had no idea he knew about my diagnosis until he said something that surprised me.

“You know,” he finally whispered, “my mother had melanoma. She did eventually die from it, but she lived to be 70!” He patted me on the back. “So don’t lose hope, girl. You might have a long time yet.” Then he winked at me.

Tears filled my eyes because a perfect stranger had acknowledged how serious this fight is, and in the same breath, he’d also given me hope. 

We played three songs as a group. My mom and I smiled, shifting speed and taking cues simultaneously like we always do while jamming together. My previous worries dissipated, floating up so many octaves that I became obliviously unaware.

After we finished playing, I thought about how incredible playing felt. I didn’t worry about how I walked or hunched from the side. I didn’t fret over talking about cancer too much or too little. Instead, I loved how nimbly my fingers could still move, dancing up and down the fingerboard, turning strings and wood to sounds that change the climate of an entire day. 

“Please, please play with us for our gigs.” The bassist shocked me. “We only play once a month.”

“I wish I could, but I play a few songs and get too tired.” 

“Well, you really can fiddle!” Denver interjected. “I’m so glad we got to hear you play.”

After almost everyone else had packed up and left, Denver lingered in the entryway.

“You,” he said, then stood straight. I wondered what he’d wanted to say. “You’re…” So many thoughts seemed to swirl in his brain, but instead of saying anything, he thought hard. “You’re the best!” Then he pointed to me and gave me the brightest smile. “Hang in there.”

After Denver left, my mom turned to me. “Not bad for a group of people in their 60s and 70s.”

“Are you kidding?!” I said, giving her the biggest hug. “You guys are AMAZING! Especially you and Denver!”

Learn From Others

I opened my grandma's happiness file and read the words she'd written in 1998: Learn from others. This brought back a memory of something that happened when I recently went to the radiation oncology clinic. 

A kind-looking couple, probably in their 80s, talked so earnestly. At one point, the man must've noticed my interest because he turned to me and smiled.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said, "but you got radiation once and said you'd never come back?"

"It was... different than I expected," he said. "Is this your first time?"

I shook my head and told him I'd been there multiple times.

"So you know how hard it actually is?" he whispered. "The fatigue? And nausea?"

I nodded. "I'm just so grateful to be alive." I sat back in my seat. "If you don't mind my asking... what made you decide to get radiation again?"

 "Like you said, it kept me alive." 

He squeezed his wife's hand, and she finally spoke, explaining that ever since her husband first went into remission, he started a progress log, writing down what everyone in their family had been up to. After the cancer returned, they went through the log together and highlighted the best moments of every month.

"There were so many things in my life that I didn't really appreciate until I got sick," he added, and I nodded with understanding. 

"I looked back at all of the time—and years—I would've missed if I hadn't gotten radiation the first time. After reading through the progress log, it felt surreal how everyone in my family grew so much as people. And I got to watch. I had a front-row seat for all of it." He smiled reflectively. "A couple of our grandkids graduated from college. One of them even got married! I just can't imagine missing out on that or missing the look of pride on our son's face."

The two of them turned to each other with such love, and the woman actually had tears in her eyes. 

So, I heard an incredible reminder from a couple of strangers. And when the nurse called me back to my appointment and I spoke with the radiation oncologist, I didn't feel quite as hesitant as I had before. 

"How are you doing today?" my doctor asked me.

"Much better," I said, and I meant it.

Success is Subjective

I’m not sure if you’ve heard of the Frequency Phenomenon, but I’m sure you’ve experienced it. An example would be when you buy a car and suddenly see that same kind of car everywhere. Or you could be thinking about butterflies, then find a documentary about them, receive a butterfly sticker, and maybe even see one in real life—all within a short period. Anyway, I’ve been doing that with the word “persevere,” and I’ve been wondering if it happened so I could help a kid who came over to our house earlier this week...

I’d already been thinking about perseverance, but this didn’t get odd until I opened my grandma’s happiness file. I’ve talked about this file before. My grandma suffered from pretty severe depression, but she came from a time when people didn’t see therapists or look for help when they struggled with mental health problems. So, trying to solve this on her own, she wrote on dozens of index cards, sharing what makes her happy. Then she put the cards into an old recipe box so that whenever she felt down, the cards waited with something better to focus on… something that made her happy.

 
After I got diagnosed with cancer, I wished I could talk with my grandma, but she’d passed away so many years before. Now, her happiness file and words of wisdom have become like a lifeline from Heaven, and I’m grateful to read her notes whenever I’m sad, too.

The other day, I pulled out a card from the happiness file. I expected to read what the cards normally say: a quote, inspiration, or words of encouragement. But the card this time only said one word… PERSEVERE. Hoping for something more to ground me, I went to a jar I have that’s filled with daily inspirations, and it talked about “your story.” "What does your story say about you?” It went on to talk about strength and resilience, and then the end of the card talked about—of course—perseverance.

Not long after this, a family friend came over to our house. “I just haven’t accomplished much,” he said. “All these kids I’ve graduated with, they’ve accomplished so much. They’re going to school. Some of them have graduated already, and they have awesome careers. They’re making so much money. And what do I have to show for my life?”

“You’re only 21,” I said. Then I took a deep breath. “And with my fight against mortality and death… I’ve shifted my focus. What really matters in life... What I consider to be "successful," has changed. I guess I’ve just fully realized how subjective so much of this is.”

“So what do you think success is?” he asked.

“Life—to me—is all about relationships. What matters most to me now is making a positive difference for the people I love. I’ve had to work hard to persevere through a lot, but my family keeps me going.” I recently got some tough news. I’d been getting so hopeful because the cancer in my body hadn’t grown since August of 2024, but they just found a new tumor in my pelvis and another possible tumor in my spinal cord this January (2025). I didn’t relay any of this to our family friend; I didn’t want to place that burden on him and detract any more from his current struggles. "I just hope you know what an incredible person you are," I said.

“Have you ever felt like a failure?” he asked, and I nodded. “It’s such a terrible feeling. I’m stuck in a hamster wheel, not going anywhere.”

“I know this might sound… strange…But can we pull up your Facebook page?”

“Um.” He got out his phone. “Okay, Yeah.”

I flashed through his pictures and smiled. “You look happy, and so does everyone around you.”

“That was during a family vacation.” He laughed. “We didn’t have much money, but we had the best time anyway.” He paused. “You know, it was actually more fun than the vacations when my parents had more money.” He continued telling me about other experiences, funerals, weddings, and hiking trips.

“This was all in 2024?” I asked, and when he confirmed, I said, “You did so much in a single year! And look at all of these people, these people who love you. You’ve impacted their lives. You make such a difference.”

I watched as some new realizations dawned on him while he scrolled through pictures. “I have done a lot this year, haven’t I?”

“You have. It was so neat seeing how happy everyone was in those pictures with you.”

“You really think the most important thing is relationships?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Not a career? Getting an education?”

I shook my head.

“Not money?”

“Nope. I really think it’s about relationships and being kind. That’s it." I took a deep breath. "I know you're worried about your future, but don’t worry. You’re gonna go far in life. You have the two most important skills: you’re kind, and you’re a hard worker. You know how to persevere and still make a difference for other people. So, don’t be too hard on yourself. Everything else will fall into place.”

He nodded. “Hey, thanks, Elisa. I… I do feel a lot better.”

It was such a surreal experience, literally witnessing as at least some of the weight and stress left this kid. I just hope he knows how many incredible things he's doing right now—in the present. He's making a difference for everyone he knows.

Anyway, after he left, I thought again about my grandma’s word from the happiness file (PERSEVERE) as well as the daily inspiration. If we could all look back at our lives and see what a positive difference we’ve made for other people and what our stories show about us... If we could see how hard we're striving and persevering just to make it through life... I think it could change how we live, help us give ourselves grace, and make us a lot happier about the people we’re striving to be.

Always Good to be Kind

"You know what enters the room when you do?" I asked my 14-year-old, Indy, and she shook her head.

"SUNSHINE," I said. "That's what I feel when you come into a room."

Indy grinned so big that the light from it reached her eyes. "You're feeling good?" she asked, and when I nodded, her excitement surprised me.

"Whatcha wanna do?" I sounded so much like myself before this whole ordeal with cancer started.

"Go to the coffee shop?" She smiled big as if she'd been waiting for a day like this for her whole life. "A boy from school works there, and he said…" She looked down at her feet. "You know, we're just friends, but he said he'd buy me a sandwich if I came to see him at work."

"Sounds great," I said, "but there's a catch."

"Anything," she said, surprising me again. "As long as it's just the two of us."

I grabbed my purse and pulled a tiny sack from it.

"What are those?" she asked, coming closer.

"Well, they've become kind of magical because they bring happiness." Then I dumped the contents into her hand, and her eyes lit with wonder. For just a moment, I forgot that she's 14, and it seemed that a tiny six-year-old sat in front of me, wondering over fireflies again. "They're magnets," I said as her eyes took in every detail.

"All different kinds of flowers…" She flipped each one over. "Ladybugs. Mushrooms—with faces. And turtles." She actually giggled at that point. "The turtles are so cute!"

"Think hard," I finally said after she'd looked at each one, "and pick the one you think would be the very best for today."

"You give these to people?" she asked. 

"When I feel like I should." I smiled at my precious girl.

She took a while, almost picking a turtle at one point, then selected a sunflower. "This one. I'm not sure why, but I pick this one."

"While we're out today, I want you to find someone who seems like they might need a smile. You'll think of something good about them and actually tell them before giving them the sunflower. You up for it?"

"A stranger?" Her eyes had grown wider. "Mama, I don't know if I can do that."

"I understand if it's too scary. But just promise you'll try?"

"Yeah, sure! It sounds fun… except for the stranger part."

We both laughed and headed to the coffee shop where Indy's friend works.

"You see anyone?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she replied, and I didn't want to press it at all.

"No worries."

Indy got her free sandwich, and we had a wonderful date together. Then, it was about time to head back home.

"Mama, we haven't been out like this in forever," she said, and I felt more grateful for the pain pump than in previous months. "Remember how we used to go to the photo booth when I was younger… before you got sick? We'd go on dates and get our pictures taken there."

I nodded. Indy has some of those pictures still hanging on her mirror.

"You wanna go to the mall and take pictures at the photo booth?"

"Would that be okay? If you're still feeling all right?"

I nodded. Fighting cancer has changed a lot in our lives and somehow catapulted our teenagers through the tough years and made them appreciative and extremely helpful.

Indy has her learner's permit (since kids can drive at 15 in Idaho), but she still has a lot to learn, and when she drives, I feel closer to G-d—because I pray so much for Him to spare our lives.

Anyway, after we walked into the mall, a rush of people skirted past us. I wondered if they returned holiday gifts or just wanted to go shopping for 2025 sales. Regardless, the number of people seemed unusual.

"You okay?" Indy asked because I went toward the wall and held onto it.

"Yeah," I said. "That was just a lot of people. I'm glad it's calmer now."

We looked over and must've seen her at the exact same time. A woman used a walker to inch toward the exit. People passed her—not even noticing her struggles. And with a sinking heart, I wondered if that's what true loneliness looks like. 

"That's her!" Indy suddenly said. "That's who the sunflower is for."

"But you said you were nervous about going up to a stranger?"

"I'm not nervous anymore." She straightened up. "She needs this."

Indy walked over, almost matching speed with the woman. Then, she finally stood in front of her, and the woman peered up, shocked. Mall customers continued passing by, too busy to notice a miracle unfolding right next to them. 

Few words were exchanged, but Indy stood there, looking kindly at the woman. After a few moments more, Indy walked back toward me, and the woman's eyes never left her, even as she clutched the simple sunflower magnet to her chest.

"Are you okay?" I asked because tears filled Indy's eyes.

"You won't believe what she said."

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I told her how beautiful she is and that I wanted to give her something special to remember. Then she told me she's 85 and hasn't heard something like that about herself in decades!"

"That's… I'm so glad you said that to her, Indy. Is that why you're crying?"

"No, Mama," she said. "I'm crying because when she first saw me, she said, "Oh, my goodness. SUNSHINE!" Indy swallowed hard. "Like I was SUNSHINE. Actual sunshine... Just like you said." She shook her head in wonder. "She did more for me than I did for her. You were right. Those are magic. Where did you get them, Mama?" she joked.

"The dollar store," I replied, and we both laughed.

"Wow. She made my heart feel so warm." Then, more tears filled Indy's eyes as we walked toward the photo booth to finish off the perfect date.

 "It's always good to be kind," Indy said, and I knew in that moment that I couldn't be any prouder of Indy and all of my kids. 

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year

 We’ve had so much fun celebrating Hanukkah. Trey even gave me and Mike a poncho. So thoughtful.🥰 We’ve played a ton of games, AND I even won… once. 😂 But we’ve had the best time, and I’m really grateful for the time. 🕎 ✡️ ✨

Even though Indy and I are the only people in our family who are converting to Judaism, we’re so thankful for our family and friends’ support 🥰

The ‘I Cans’ in Life

We recently went to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and had the most incredible time. But despite how fun it was, at one point, I found myself getting a little bit sad because there’s so much I can’t do. I knew the kids wanted to go skiing—and I brought my laptop so I could stay busy at the room while they were gone—but I guess they wanted me to be involved.

Unfortunately, since there’s no way I can do something like skiing, they ended up scheduling some family pictures. 😮

Anyway, our family did sooo many incredible things there: tried new restaurants, went shopping, saw museums, moose, and elk… Who knew these western pictures would end up being the kids’ favorite part?!

This was so much fun 🥰

P. S. I wish our two oldest girls could’ve come (they had to work), but we’re already trying to pick a time to visit Jackson again when they can come too 💓 This was just too great; we need to do it again. 

#ecstilson #butchcassidyandthesundancekid #butchcassidylookalike #sundancekid #sundancekidlookalike #thesundancekid #paulnewmanlookalike #fyp #foryoupage

Word to Live By?

 If you could pick a single word to live by for 2025, which word would you pick? I’m thinking about maybe potential, capable, or open. I looked up the etymology of each word, and they’re all pretty neat. How about you? 

P.S. Happy New Year! 🥰🥰🥰🎉🎉🎉 I hope it’ll be incredible for you. 

#ecstilsonfaith #ecstilsonfindingpeace #elisabethmagagna #elisamagagna #ecstilson #stage4cancer

Kindness Is the Best Teacher

Before meeting with an HR team, Trey asked for me to do a mock interview. "I'm extremely hard working,” he said, “and that’s why I'll be the best decision you ever made here—because I won't let you down." Then he thoughtfully tapped his fingers on his knee. “This apprenticeship, well… it’ll change the course of my life. I just need a chance.

I hadn't realized exactly HOW much he’d wanted this, and I couldn’t help staring at him. 

That next week, Trey landed the years-long welding apprenticeship AND a scholarship paid by the state. Now, half a year later, he’s worked hard and appreciated every minute. He's showed enthusiasm even when he’s tired and never called in sick even when he could have. There was only one hiccup—last month.

“Your car broke down?” Mike asked Trey on the phone. “I’ll be right there, but this might cost a bit to fix.”

We’ve asked Trey to pay for half of his car parts, and although he and Mike do the labor, it can still get expensive. “Trey, they’re paying you at this apprenticeship.” I sighed. “Why don’t you have any money?” We had this conversation after I logged into our joint checking account and saw some larger purchases.

“There’s a reason for all of it,” he said. “But if it’s okay, I don’t feel like it’s my place to say.”

"You’re not in danger?" I asked, suddenly worried. High school is a different place than when I was a kid.

Trey actually laughed. “No! It’s nothing like that.” Then he added, “I’ll make sure to save money in the future—and I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

Time passed, and eventually the holidays came. Not knowing what to get Trey, I noticed him perusing, video games and instruments (not surprising), but then he googled uncharacteristic things too like cameras, art supplies, and clothes.

“Mom, people have shown me so much kindness since you got sick,” he said one day. “I still can’t believe I got Borah!” His cat looked up at the mention of his name and took the opportunity to meow at us. “But I don’t want you worrying about the holidays. I make my own money. Just worry about going to your cancer treatments and getting better.”

This brought tears to my eyes, making me vow to give him something extra special. 

Ironically, it wasn’t long after Trey opened his big gift—a new woodwind instrument—that I started receiving a few unexpected calls and texts.

“He bought our son the nicest gift!” The first woman cried. “Money has been so tight since my husband lost his job. We didn’t know what to do this year. But it all worked out. It’s gonna be okay.”

I didn’t know what to say. And when I finally understood what Trey had done, I could hardly believe it. “I’m… I’m stunned,” I said.

“Me too! This is like a miracle.”

The day ended with three sets of parents calling or texting, just wanting Mike and I to know what Trey had done for their kids—all classmates he thought might be struggling this year.

We hugged our boy that night. “You’re a pretty great guy,” Mike said.

“It’s nothing. Really. I could help, so I did! What kind of person wouldn’t help if they knew they could do something?”

I didn’t respond and instead really studied Trey as he spoke. This seemed like a pivotal moment in his life. “You know,” he paused to pick up Borah, his gigantic Maine coon, “all the people who’ve been kind to our family after your diagnosis, they were good examples. This whole situation has changed all of us, and we’ll never forget the kind people who’ve come into our lives. They’ve made the hard times somehow bearable.” He hugged Borah and started walking down the hall to their bedroom. “Kind people are good teachers.” And with that, the duo disappeared into their room, and Mike and I listened as Trey cooed to Borah, begging him to go to sleep.

“What are you thinking?” Mike asked.

“Just that I never expected cancer to affect everyone the way it has. I’m glad something good has come from it, but I do worry for the kids.” I walked over to Mike and rested my head on his arm. “Things like this make me so proud of them, and it gives me peace that when it’s my time to go, the kids will be okay. They’re kind and hardworking. What more could we ask for?”

“They were always gonna be good kids,” Mike said. “I’m proud of them.”

So, we stayed like that for a long time, snuggling into each other as we looked out the window where multicolored lights illuminated the winter wonderland in our front yard. Flakes of snow twirled from Heaven, leaving paradise so we could momentarily appreciate their beauty; I guess even gravity has its perks. That reminded me of my own situation: Amid surgeries, treatments, infusions, and other appointments, Trey helped me find a huge pocket of goodness this holiday season. He didn’t just bring a miracle to those families, he brought one to me and Mike as well.

A Memory that Still Gives Me Peace

In 2020, not long after a big surgery, I went shopping with Mike. Several minutes into the trip, a huge wave of weakness descended until I needed to sit down.

It took me a while to hobble to the front of the store with my walker, and once I finally got there and found a chair, I noticed someone staring at me!

“You use this thing?” he asked, moving closer to my walker.

Who was this guy? “Yes,” I said, trying to be extra polite. “I use this thing.” I’d been using a walker since doctors removed my tumorous L3, and—at that point—I couldn’t imagine life without the device.

“Well then, what’s wrong with you? You’re not that old.”

“I’m in my thirties,” I said, and despite his delivery, I felt grateful for the bluntness. It seemed a nice departure from people who always tiptoed around me. “I have cancer... Stage four.”

The man leaned forward then, as if imparting some great gift. “The reason I’m here is to tell you that prayer works.”

“That’s the reason you’re here?”

“Yep. That’s the reason I’m here!” And he smiled, this bright smile that could light up a city.

Shortly after that, Mike came up to a register, and I went to stand by him while he checked out.

I looked back to where I’d been sitting, but the chairs were already gone! So was the man I’d spoken with moments before.

“Who was that?” Mike asked.

“I have no idea. But that was one of the weirdest things I’ve had happen in weeks.”

“What did he say?” Mike asked.

“That prayer works.”

This past weekend, I found myself unable to stop thinking about that strange man and his timely message. Who knew it would help me even years later as I continue to battle cancer?

Sure I don’t know how long I have, but no one knows when it’ll be their time to pass on. It doesn’t help to dwell on an uncertain future. The best thing I can do is appreciate the time I have, let fear go, and keep faith that G-d has a plan. And yes, I have to believe what the stranger said years ago: that prayer works... or at least that G-d can hear me. It’s nice to think He’s up there listening on the good days, the bad ones, and all the moments in between. #ecstilson #heartwarming #storytime #happyholidays #holidaystory #fyp #stage4cancer