Eight-year-old Luis Carranza, whose mother slipped him from Mexico into the United States for live-saving cancer treatment, has died of leukemia after the same treatment that once offered him remission attacked his central nervous system, and caused seizures and terminal, irreversible brain damage.

Luis' story, first featured in a September 18 post, is a powerful one, riddled with struggle and hardship and love and commitment.

The story began less than two years ago when Guadalupe Carranza smuggled her young, sick son into the United States for treatment. Luis was welcomed into a Texas hospital and was showered with an abundance of love from staff and volunteers. Guadalupe did not receive the same warm welcome, however, and was deported back to Mexico. And while she battled to return to her son's bedside, Guadalupe was met with continued defeat -- until her son fell into a coma and border and consulate officials allowed the mother to cross back into the United States where she stayed until her son passed away on Thursday at his grandparent's house in El Paso.

Guadalupe had been with her son since May 8, 2006. And an attorney involved in Luis' case says he believes the boy, despite his serious condition, could sense his mother's presence. And everyone involved believes the boy, who was clearly suffering, is now in a much better place.

Danny became aware of my port just before it was removed. He was only 18 months old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and my journey went pretty much unnoticed by this small boy who had no idea ports were not standard on every person he met. Now he is three years old and even though he still has no real idea why a port popped up from underneath my skin for two years, he did come to realize it was something akin to a boo-boo that one day goes away.

My port went away on September 15. And ever since that day, Danny has been very concerned about the incision that marks the spot once home to a foreign device. For one week after my port removal, my incision was covered. Danny wondered why. I told him I was healing, that I had to keep my boo-boo protected, that I could not take a shower because it could not get wet. Danny was very attentive. He pulled at the neck of my shirt every time I held him to sneak a peak at the site of my surgery. He asked if it hurt, if doctors cut me with a knife, if new skin was growing underneath my bandage. "Yes", "yes", and "yes." I told him. And one day when I decided to take a shower, despite orders to keep the area completely dry, Danny said, "The doctor said you cannot take a shower." I told him, "I know." And he said, "But actually you did take a shower." I told him he was right and hoped he would not pursue my disobedience any further. He did not -- he was just checking up on me, he was just concerned about me, he was just wondering if I may have compromised something. I told him I was fine.

I did not do any damage with my rebellious shower, my bandage is off, and Danny only peeks once in a while to monitor the area. He is mostly back to his normal life, free from all nursing duties. And I am mostly back to life, free from my port and happily showered in love by my littlest guy -- the guy who was once oblivious to all things cancer related, the guy who somehow became my caregiver.

I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted.

My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.

Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.

Joey has a hard time staying in bed when we put him down for the night. When we ask him why he continually gets up, he tells us that he wants to be with us -- mommy and daddy --  and that he wants to watch TV and that he's just not tired. He is five years old. And he will try anything to coax us into allowing him to stay up just a little bit longer. Lately, he's been asking serious questions he knows will take some time to answer -- like how exactly does a light bulb work? And how does lightening get in the air? And how do you build a house? Last night, his questions followed a medical path -- a cancer path really.

Based on a true story, The Blue Butterfly is about Pete Carlton, 10, who is terminally ill with brain cancer. Pete's last wish is to catch the mythic and elusive Blue Morpho, considered the most beautiful butterfly on earth. Knowing her son only has a few months left to live, Teresa is determined to make her son's last wish a reality. She convinces Alan Osborne, a renowned entomologist who prefers insects to people, to take the wheelchair bound boy to South America, into the Costa Rican rain forest, as this is the only place where the butterfly can be found. Osborne carries Pete on his back through the jungles in search of the Blue Morpho.

The plot synopsis goes on to describe The Blue Butterfly as a journey of courage, redemption and love. A magical film about a courageous young boy and a jaded man who chase a dream, and whose lives are forever changed. According to the producer of this film, Pete came back from the adventure walking, and is in his 20's now.

This is an independent film that has been shown in film festivals such as the Tribeca Film Festival and the Chicago Int’l Children’s Film Festival, and small theaters since 2004. Starring William Hurt, Pascale Bussieres, and Marc Donato, The Blue Butterfly will be released on DVD in May 2006. As the movie states, the only way to catch a miracle is to believe in it.