Miracles really happen. I know. I've seen it myself. Ten years ago, I received a call that no aunt in this world wants to; it was my sister, and she was giving me the news that her baby had been hit by a car. He had just celebrated his second birthday mere weeks before.
For a week, I stayed at the hospital with my sister and her husband, looking after their youngest baby while doctors tried to stabilize Troy. The week was a blur of ICUs, waiting rooms, cafeteria food and cold hospital beds. Troy was in a coma, the situation was dire, and all we could do was hold his hand, whisper to him softly, and wait. Monitors would beep softly, and I remember sitting there holding his tiny hand, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, praying with everything in me that he would just LIVE.
Please God, don't let my sister lose her oldest son.
When I finally had to go home, I stroked his hair and whispered my goodbyes, telling him I'd be going on a big ferry boat back home. My sister, with her unwavering faith that Troy was still in there despite his broken little body, suddenly asked him,
"How old are you?"
This was a game that they had played often. She would ask, he would grin and hold up two chubby little fingers.
I didn't expect him to respond.
After a minute Troy's hand suddenly moved. Then shakily, painfully, his arm was off the bed. There, in the ICU, he held up his two chubby fingers like a little flag of hope. I'm still here, they said. I still understand you. I'm fighting. And I'm going to be okay.
To everyone's shock and amazement, he not only lived, but today you would never know that he was injured at all.
Please support the Children's Miracle Network and buy a Blizzard at Dairy Queen August 13th. The money goes to help kids, just like Troy.
You never know when you might need a miracle.