A Wish For Snow

A Wish For Snow

Having lived in Hawaii for years--with tropical weather on the agenda on most days--meant living in comfort and having fun-filled adventures at the beaches and parks, and on trips to many exciting attractions.  But for little Keiki, something was amiss.  She kept wondering time and again, "Mommy, when could I ever see snow?" 

This simple question would pop up during winter time, when she would see and hear that snow was falling in the different states, as reported on TV. Or as seen in movies with Santa Claus, flying with all his reindeer on icy rooftops and to the North Pole, always blanketed in white.  The images of your everyday White Christmas.  I would always say, “Keiki, one day, you’ll see snow.”  Contented with an answer tingled with hope, she would run off, back to her imaginary play…full of snowmen and sleds.  However, as soon as spring and summer would come, she would totally forget about all the enchantments of snow, and everything about the little flurries of white ice falling.  Yet, I knew that deep down in her little heart, Keiki longed for snow.

She was extremely elated when her preschool center once organized a Snow Day for children to experience a make believe winter wonderland. That day, she finally got the chance to wear a furry coat, boots, snow cap and mittens.  A big truck came and pumped tons of fluffy, white—but manmade—snow out of a big tube.  Keiki and her friends made snowballs, snow angels and snow castles.  We took lots of pictures.  She had a great time.  But the fun was contained in that one little area…it wasn’t the real thing.  And Keiki knew that. 

Then one day, I broke the news to her that we were moving to another state.  Keiki’s first question was, “Mommy, is there going to be snow where we are moving?”  To keep her hopes up, I cheerfully replied, “You'd better ask for it.” I looked up, said a prayer and crossed my fingers, knowing very well that the place we were relocating to—South Texas--was a long shot for snowfall.  I sure was far less confident than I sounded.  But, as the days of our move were getting closer, Keiki became more anxious.  She expressed that she liked staying where we were and did not want to move.  To pacify her anxiousness, I reminded her of the snow she constantly hoped for. That made her smile, squeal with delight , and then she jumped up and down, excitedly chanting, “I’ll see snowwwww, I’ll see snowwww.” These small talks we had lasted for five months, up until the big day.

Our move from paradise to the desert was exhausting, yet mostly smooth-sailing.  It was at the peak of summer and the heat--in the triple digits almost daily--was searing.  Surprisingly, Keiki made a smooth transition, considering all the changes she had to go through: new home, new friends, new school and new lifestyle.  There was one question she persistently asked me, “Mom, when is winter coming? I want to see snow.”  Each time I was confronted with this nagging question by this little inquisitive girl of mine, I looked up and pleadingly said a silent, heartfelt prayer: “Please, just once, let it snow.” 

Christmas came with all the trimmings of the holiday season, complete with stories and images of winter. I anticipated hearing Keiki’s favorite little query once again. To my relief, she didn’t ask this time. Perhaps because she was so preoccupied with her wish list to Santa, which I presumed was a little longer this year.  Her energy seemed more focused on putting ornaments on the Christmas tree and wrapping her hand-made presents. Honestly, I felt a bit more at ease. I thought I could sit back and relax from her persistence. Then one day, she suddenly burst out: “Mommy, you know one of the three wishes I asked from Santa is snow!” There it was again.  I looked at her lovingly and said, “Your wish will come true, Keiki.”  I just didn’t know when. 

At that moment,  I wished I were a magician who had the power to make snow appear before Keiki’s eyes. I whispered the all-too-familiar words, like something from out of a trite fantasy movie: “Abracadabra, let it snow,” not feeling that the utterance was very magical at all.  Still, all I could do that time was hope against all hope, like my daughter. From then on, I had an awakening.  I knew that I had to start believing…the way a child believes, from the heart.

New Year's Day came, and passed us by. Some days were warm, other days were cold. Keiki stopped coming to me with her longing. I felt sad for her.  Once in a while, she heard news about the current snowfalls in other parts of the country, but all her excitement was gone.  She contented herself by making paper snowflakes, an obvious but quieter sign that the longing still existed. Every day for two weeks running, she came home from school with the meticulously cut-out ornaments in her hand, proudly showing me how pretty they were. I thought she had finally accepted that this winter would be over soon, without her much-awaited snowfall. That she would just have her paper flakes as a simple memento of her affinity for snow.

Then yesterday, she gleefully told me, “Mama, we don’t have school tomorrow. Teacher said that there will be snow tonight. Yehey!” I saw the sparkle in her eyes. I acknowledged her by saying, “Yeah, we will finally see snow tonight, Keiki.”  But my tone was lacking in spirit.  I still didn’t believe it…after all, it was only hearsay. 

Then later, while waiting at the doctor’s clinic for one of my mother’s follow-up appointments, I saw on the weather channel that, indeed, snow flurries were forecasted for the early evening.  A tiny flicker of hope was aroused in me and I immediately dialed my husband’s cell.  I excitedly announced to him and to Keiki the good news.

When we got home, the wind was cold and sharp, and the clouds were dark and gray and moving quickly.  It looked as though the skies would unload a torrent of freezing rain or hail...something calamitous, not enchanting.  But then I felt something on my cheek, little droplets, like a light drizzle.  Yet when I looked up, the droplets were not dropping...they were fluttering, blowing in the wind.  And they were white.  Then I noticed that there were small bits of white ice on our car, like the bits of frost lining the inside of a freezer. 

I quickly ran into the house and called my daughter.  Keiki, still not fully bundled up, came stumbling out of the house. She jumped for joy, and tried catching the tiny flecks of snow on her tongue. We hurriedly took pictures of her standing in front of the car as the crumbs of white powder dotted the windshield. And we looked closer at the specks...tiny but ornate, like dainty white diamonds.  These were snowflakes!  Real snowflakes! 

Keiki was truly happy. “Mom, I see snow now.”  To keep her hopes lingering, I said, “When more snow will come and you’re asleep, I will wake you up.” She replied, “I won’t sleep, Mom. I will wait for snow.” She said it with fervent anticipation, as if revving up for Christmas morn.  But of course, she dreamily slept through the night.

I was still sound asleep myself when an ecstatic voice called out, “Mommy, Mommy, there is snow. Look out the window, snow is everywhere!”  True enough, in a flash of breathlessness, I saw what my little girl has been longing for forever.  The landscape revealed the moment.  Our front lawn was a glimmering, pale green.  But the sidewalks, the street, and even our porch were covered in a splotchy, powdery white!  Indeed, my child’s wish had come true. On this super freezing day, the magic had happened.  It was plentiful, and it was everywhere.  Even for this mom, it was a sight to behold.  For like Keiki, I too had never seen snow.

My child has taught me a lesson in hope--pure, untainted, unadulterated hope. A hope that doesn’t give up no matter how long the wait is. I feel humbled by the unexpected and natural wonders of our life.  And I feel pure awe by the power of Mother Nature’s first impressions on my child.