Love… A Gift of Miracle

When I was growing up, I used to have this notion that miracles only happen to people who are saints or who-would-be-one someday. It’s like a calling from God. Little did I know that a miracle would happen to me.

Last year, I was on my way to Asilo for the feast day of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. That time, I was half bent on going since my Dad just got out of the hospital from a stroke last October. When I was about to kiss my Dad goodbye, I panicked because he was acting rather odd and was gasping for air. So my uncles and I rushed him back to the hospital.

In the emergency room, I saw my Dad so weak and he looked frail with all the tubes on his body. I answered all the doctor’s queries about his past medical record until I heard a flat line sound which I usually hear from the movies. My heart was racing so fast because it was my first time to see the doctors and nurses rushing to his aid and trying to revive him. I kept asking God to bring my Dad back. Surprisingly, I was a bit calm at that time.

After a couple of minutes, his vital signs went back to normal and I felt relieved. I rushed to my Dad and held his hand so tight and told him, “Don’t do that again Pappy, you scared me.” He just gave out a smile and winked at me. I kept talking to him that everything will be okay and he’ll be coming home that night. I tried to be strong for him and kept smiling but I was so scared that I was going to break down again of what I had just witnessed awhile ago.

While I was talking to him, the nurse sensed that there was something wrong in his vital signs. I was going to ask him something but he let go of my hand. And I heard the daunting flat line sound again. I kept calling him out but he wouldn’t respond anymore. I stepped aside and let the doctors and nurses take care of him. I kept praying that he would be well again like the first time. To my horror, the CPR machine won’t function. They had to change the machines not once but twice. The other machines wouldn’t work just like the other ones. I saw my Dad lifeless and the incessant flat line sound didn’t stop. That was the time I got so scared and shouted at the doctors and nurses to do something. The nurses had to pound his chest to revive him. I was trembling with fear already when I remembered about the feast day of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. I prayed fervently to the Miraculous Medal to revive my Dad. I told Mama Mary how much I need him and I wasn’t ready to lose him. That night I can’t recall how many times I’ve pleaded to Mama Mary while I cried unabashedly.

Suddenly the deafening sound stopped and saw the vital signs went back to normal. That was the longest three minutes of my life. I rushed back to my Dad and held his hand so tight, not wanting to let go. I thought I was going to lose him that night.

That night I never stopped thanking Mama Mary and God for giving me two greatest miracles in my life. First I got my Dad back and second, I found my heart to tell him for the first time how much I love him.

Now I’ve realized that you don’t have to be a saint to witness a miracle. It comes in different forms and packages. It can also be in the form of a person. A miracle mirrors God’s eternal Love for us. Last year, I experienced one great miracle when I learned to love my Dad even more. That’s what God wants us to do – that is to love and honor our parents as much as He loves us.

Just as a wise man had said, “Where there is great love there are always miracles.”


My Pappy years before the stroke in 2008.


Pappy surviving two strokes in October-November 2008

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