Is Christmas a Time for Miracles? The Answer is YES, and we can prove it.

We thought Mom was dead, but she opened her eyes and said, “Come here and give me a hug.” 

Believe in Miracles                                                                    en.wikipedia.org

IT MAKES SENSE TO ME

By Larry Peterson

During the Christmas season, I believe God’s loving hand sweeps down and touches many of us with a little extra something when we might need it most. Haven’t you ever, after having something unexpected and beautiful happens, blurted out, “I can’t believe it, it’s a miracle!”

Sometimes what happens to you or someone close to you is inexplicable, mystifying, and mysterious and you just know in your heart that God had His hand in the mix. The following is true, and it happened to my family during the Christmas season of 1960. I can remember it as if it happened today. There is no logical explanation save God intervened and gave us an unexpected Christmas gift.

Our Mom had just turned forty and suddenly was going back and forth to the hospital for two or three days at a time. I had just turned 16 and was more or less oblivious to most everything except Barbara McMahon, who lived around the corner. Every time Mom came home, she looked worse. My sister, Carolyn, 13, told me the black and blue marks on Mom’s arms were from IV needles. I figured she knew what was up especially since she wanted to be a nurse.

Dad just kept telling us it was the “grippe” (today we call it the flu). “Don’t worry,” he’d say, “It’s just a really bad grippe.” Grandma, who lived with us, embraced that concept without question. Today, the psyche experts call that Denial. Grandma proved to be really good at it.

Mom was home for Thanksgiving, but Grandma was doing most of the work using my poor sister as her trainee. I know that it was sometime after Thanksgiving that Mom went back into the hospital. Then came December 18. That was the day Dad, Grandma, Carolyn and myself, took the subway down to Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan for a simple Sunday visit with the woman who was the wife, mother and daughter in our lives. Christmas was one week away and that visit turned out to be anything but simple.

Mom was on the third floor, and when we got to her room,  several doctors and nurses were standing around her bed. Mom was on the bed, her head on the pillow and turned to one side. Her eyes were closed. I remember how still she was. I was instantly frightened. Carolyn and I looked at each other and she too was filled with fear. It is incredible how fast fear can embrace you.

Grandma placed her hand over her mouth and started to cry. One of the doctors pulled our dad to the side and quietly talked to him. I watched him shake his head ever so slightly. Then he came over to me and (this is a direct quote from him on that day), “Please take your sister and Grandma to the chapel and say a rosary together. Your Mom needs all the prayers she can get right now.”

Trying to grow into a man in a matter of seconds, I put my arm around Grandma’s shoulder and said, “C’mon Grandma, let’s do what Dad asked.” She was so distraught she simply complied and followed my lead. As we headed to the inter-denominational chapel, a priest hurried towards Mom’s room.

I have no idea how long we were in that little chapel, but I do know we had prayed two rosaries when a nurse came in and asked us to go back to the room. We were a bit shocked because the nurse was smiling. Grandma, with her worn-out arthritic knees, jumped up and broke into the funkiest sprint I have ever seen. She had erased thirty years just like that.

When we walked into that room, we were confronted with a sight to behold. Mom was sitting up in bed, smiling. Dad was next to her with his arm around her shoulder. He was sporting a grin that spread across his entire face and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Standing on the other side of the bed was the priest we had seen in the hallway. He was standing there with his hands clasped together with a look on his face I cannot describe. For me, it was a moment etched indelibly in my mind and I can see it as clearly as I did back then.

Our Mom, who we thought was dead, extended her arms and said, “Well, don’t I get a hug from you two? C’mon, get over here.”

Mom was not only better, but she was also ALL better. Her arms were clear, her face had color and her eyes were bright and cheerful. Several doctors were outside huddled together in disbelief. They had no explanation for her sudden recovery. We finally learned that Mom had Leukemia, and in 1960, your chances with that disease were virtually non-existent. We also learned that Dad had asked us to go to the chapel because the doctor had told him she only had moments left. He did not want us to see her pass on.

My father and the priest believed they had witnessed a miracle. Grandma, Carolyn, and I saw the results of that miracle. Mom came home the next afternoon.

Christmas of 1960 was spiritual and fabulous. What had happened filled us all with an awe-inspiring sense of what Christmas means…New Life.  As for Mom, she was fine until the end of January. She enjoyed Johnny’s second birthday and Danny’s eleventh birthday. In early February, she was back in the hospital. She died on February 18, 1961. God gave her back to us for one last Christmas and it was the best Christmas ever.

So please, trust me when I tell you it is okay to believe, Christmas really is a time for miracles.

Wishing God’s blessings and a MERRY CHRISTMAS to everyone.

Copyright©Larry Peterson2019 (first print 2015)

"For This Unborn Child, Mom Had Her Back"

Ten minutes away from the house was a hospital and the paramedics wanted to take her there. She had lost a lot of blood and they were concerned for her life. She was 33 years old and had three kids. The risk was too great. She did not care. "NO! NO! NO! You have to take me to Holy Name."

"But it is too far. It is more than a half hour drive. Do you want to die?"

"I don't give a damn. I'll be fine. I want this child treated properly and if she is not going to make it I want her baptized."

There was no concern for her own well being. At that very moment it was she and her unborn baby against the world and she was the only one who cared. If her child was going to die she would definitely have lived first. She would have existed. She was a person, God's gift to a family and to the world no matter how supposedly insignificant. Her momma had her back. They relented and headed to Holy Name Hospital.

When the ambulance pulled into the emergency room entrance her husband was waiting and so was Father Murray, the priest from nearby Holy Trinity Catholic Church. As they removed the gurney from the ambulance the blood had soaked upward past her head and was already matted in her hair. The emergency room doctor looked and said, "Oh my God, get her upstairs stat. Let's hurry."

The baby girl did not make it. She was baptized by the priest and her mom survived despite a tremendous loss of blood. Some of the folks on staff were amazed that she had, in fact, made it.

This woman, who was also my wife, had an innate need to protect her unborn daughter. It did not matter how big this baby was. It did not matter if the child was three or five or six years old or still unborn. Her mom needed to protect her. It was not crazy or ridiculous or stupid what she did. It was heroic. She was willing to die for her child, born or unborn. She would have taken a bullet if that is what had been necessary. Nothing else mattered except saving her baby. That is love my friends. Plain and simple.

Theresa Mary Peterson was born on September 6, 1978. Theresa Mary Peterson died on September 6, 1978. On October 3, 1978, Theresa Mary, her remains in a tiny white casket, was transported by limousine to Gate of  Heaven Cemetery in Valhalla, NY. She was interred with her grandparents. Her mother saved her because her mother was willing to die for her. Because of that heroic effort the world knows that Theresa Mary did exist even though she had only  breathed for a few moments. There is no difference with time in   God's world.  Everything takes place in the "eternal now".  One second, one day, 100 years--no difference. So, it does not matter how old she was.

As hundreds of thousands, (many of them young folks) participate in the March for Life today,  we should remember that  when they mention a number like 55,000,000 abortions over 40 years, it has taken one person at  a time to reach that number. One person like Theresa Mary, whether smaller or bigger than she, but one  person nonetheless. Finally,to all the moms (dads too) who have lost children through miscarriages, God bless you all. That was a true loss of a family member  and "not for the best" as some might have suggested. You had every right to grieve. Losing a child is a terrible thing.