Everyday Miracles

THE PRIEST’S STORY
 The priest who officiated at my patient’s funeral described his mother’s experience shortly after her husband’s death.  A pounding on her front door awakened her at 3:00 in the morning.  Half asleep, she headed downstairs to answer the door, when she heard her husband say, “What are you doing?  You’re an 82-year-old woman opening the door to a total stranger at this hour of the morning.  Are you crazy?  Go back to bed!”  That got her attention.  She said, “Thanks, Love – you’re still watching out for me.” She went back upstairs while the caller went to a neighbor’s house.  She said she also felt her husband’s presence.  I later spoke to the priest, and asked if I could use his story.  He said, “Yes.  I want people to be open to the possible communications from their loved ones—they will be so comforted.  But don’t use my name!”

“M” IS FOR MIRACLES
Eleanor’s younger sister Mary was more than a sister; she was her best friend, her confidante, and a woman she respected for her integrity.   Eleanor said, “I know everyone feels their departed loved ones are special, but Mary truly was a very unique person.  I have been suffering her loss each and every day; some days are worse than others.”
On one particularly bad morning months after her sister’s death, Eleanor awoke from an almost sleepless night of tossing, turning, and crying about her loss. Lying in bed, she asked Mary, “Is there really more, is there really something after death?”   When she arose she opened the shades and saw that it had snowed heavily the night before.  Looking out the window down on the easement in front of her house, she saw, written in the snow, an 8-foot tall letter “M.”  She said,  “It was early morning, not a soul was out.  No one. There were no footprints leading to or away from the large M.  It was perfect.” Eleanor relaxed, and slept soundly after Mary responded to her plea. How did Mary do this?  Only Mary knows!
A STRANGE VISITOR

Jim, a grief group participant, told us the following story while seated beside his 40-year-old daughter, Sandy. 
“When Sandy was 11 years old she was diagnosed with a vicious, invasive cancer.  The doctors were attempting to save her life, but it was touch and go.  Months of treatments, ranging from chemotherapy to surgery, left her in a very weakened condition. My grief-stricken wife and I were terrified of losing our child.  We are devout Catholics; so every day I spent time praying to God in the hospital chapel.  I prayed earnestly that He save my child.
“Alone in the chapel one day, while deeply focused in prayer, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  Startled, I turned to see a black nurse in a white uniform.  She looked me straight in the eye, and said, ‘Don’t worry, your daughter will recover.  She’s going to be O.K.’ Tears filled my eyes, so I blinked.  When I recovered my surprise, I looked at the nurse, but she had disappeared. In the blink of an eye.”
 “Wow,” I said.  “ Angels come in many guises.”
 “That was no angel,” Jim said, as he pointed a finger emphatically at me, “that was God.  I was praying to God.  I didn’t know God was a black nurse!”
 Jim and his daughter, long ago cured of the cancer that had invaded her body, sat side-by-side relishing the story.  They were attending the grief group because just weeks before Jim’s wife and Sandy’s mother had died of cancer. Sandy regularly attended the group. Concern for her father’s grief moved her to ask him to attend a session so he could express his feelings.  After attending several sessions Jim, a very private person, decided to withdraw.  I hope sharing his pain helped him to move forward; his wise, insightful contributions to other group members helped them understand their own issues.