we were in the hospital waiting room when Kobe passed the ball to Shaq and he dunked it. our bodies at the edge of our tan vinyl chairs, our eyes transfixed on the television screen hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room, our teeth clenched in tension. our spirits rose and fell as each second passed -- a cheer for each shot and a groan for each miss, in chorus.

we were so loud, too loud, and i kept burying my head into my mom's shoulder, making embarrassed cracks about how we were louder than any sports bar.

but then he scored, and the cheering became wild screaming and even the family in the corner who was so quiet, they were jumping out of their seats and screaming, too. i could only let out a quiet, triumphant "yes!" and hold up my arms in victory for a moment.

it was, i'm told, one of those moments in sports that everyone will remember for the rest of their lives.

what i will never forget is how, just moments before, baby ethan's eyes stirred when his mommy told him that she'd have to leave him there in his bed, attached to a dozen slithering tubes, his chest rising and falling abruptly in breath. the unspoken moment shared between mother and son. it tore me apart, i wanted to cry right there.

ethan weighs five pounds, and he is so precious: his toes are tinier than peas; his lips are dark pink, like flower petals; and his closed eyes are like slits for a button to slip through. he looks like his dad, my cousin. adorable.

later, my aunt told me that she was taking the lakers' winning as a good omen that things would be okay. i didn't know if i could believe in signs at a time like that, but i just nodded my head and said a prayer under my breath.

today, ethan was taken off the ventilator and his oxygen level has gone up. tomorrow they might feed him for the first time. maybe auntie lita was right. i hope so.