07/31/2026
As a child, I wanted to be a flying rainbow unicorn when I grew up. I didn't have the wings or horn required, but my Mom bought me a costume that did. She watched as I jumped on the trampoline wearing that thing for hours, letting me live in my realm of pretend until bedtime.
Eventually, the costume became too small and the dream too childish to hold. I went to my Mom feeling lost. She held my head against her chest and told me I could still be anything I wanted, even a flying rainbow unicorn. I didn’t have to stop believing in magic. It still existed if I looked close enough.
Of course, that wasn't enough for my little brain to compute. If magic was indeed real, I needed tangible proof.
So I set out to gather evidence of fairies living in my backyard. When I told my Mom about my mission, she smiled and knew exactly what to do. She helped me write them a letter asking for some fairy dust as proof of their existence. Together, we found a mushroom in the backyard and hid the note beneath it.
The next morning, my letter was gone.
In its place was pink parchment, a handwritten reply rolled around a little bottle of sparkling fairy dust.
She protected the part of me that needed to believe in something more, and she did whatever it took to keep it alive.
To this day, I believe in magic because of her. It never belonged to the fairies. It belonged to the woman who made them real.
Now I think I understand why she worked so hard to teach me how to find magic.
Because there would come a day when I would have to look for it without her.
It has become that day. We’ve scattered what remains of her body, and I'll spend the rest of my life looking for what remains of her.
I’ll find it in the hummingbirds and sunshine. In the familiar songs we sang together. In my brother. In myself. In all of you who loved her too.
Momma,
You spent my childhood teaching me that magic was real if I looked close enough.
So I'll keep looking.
And whenever I find something beautiful enough to make me wonder if you had something to do with it, I promise I won't ask for proof this time.
I'll just know it’s you.
