Miracles

I started believing in miracles when I was a little girl and pondered under a tree. I was a rather arrogant child quite confident in my thinking abilities and I felt I could explain almost everything in the universe, everything except the tree. I remember clearly still how I thought if I would have created the world I surely would have thought of the birds and bees, the fish and other mammals, and all the elements known and unknown, but I could not imagine that I would have imagined a tree. I love trees and I am glad I did not create the world, for in my world there would be no trees. To me, the tree is a miracle. I can’t see a tree without knowing in my heart that anything and everything is possible.

October 1979. My father was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. His doctors thought his cancer was too advanced and sent him home to die. My mother sent him back. She told them she had three children in college and one in catholic school so she could not lose her husband just yet. One hundred eleven (111) days later, and with over seventy (70) hours worth of surgery behind him, my father came home a small, emaciated man. Within a year, he was back up to 200 pounds.

When my father was very ill I stopped in a Catholic church to pray which was quite the miracle in and of itself for I am not Catholic, despite my Mom’s best efforts and intentions. I stopped to pray for my Dad and my father’s mother, who had been dead six years at this time, came to visit me and simply said,

“He’s going to be alright.”

The interesting thing is that I did not question whether or not my grandmother’s spirit came to visit me; I simply believed she came to visit me and I believed what she had to say, so I stopped worrying. When I later shared this story with my Mother she remarked,

“Wootsie (for that is what we called her) wouldn’t be caught dead in a Catholic Church.”