I have never been a very spiritual person. My wife, a much better Catholic than I am, came to me one day and told me she wanted to bring Eric to a Healing Mass being held at a church in Pennsylvania. The mass was being offered by Monsignor John Essef, a close spiritual adviser and Confessor to Mother Teresa. There was, she explained, considerable anecdotal evidence that Msgr. Essef had performed miracles. I agreed. I was agnostic, but desperation has a way of making you hedge your bets.
Eric behaved himself very well through the mass (with the help of some lollipops, juice boxes, candy and a whole arsenal of favorite toys my wife brought along). All around us were people who had traveled many miles to be blessed by the Monsignor. Each of them was either personally afflicted or caring for a family member who was battling illness or disability.
After the mass a line formed to stand before the Monsignor to be blessed. When we reached the Monsignor he first blessed my daughter (7 or so years old). He whispered to her that she was a wonderful big sister and she had a very special brother. He then blessed my wife and my son. Eric stood patiently as the kind man touched his forehead and whispered a blessing I could not fully hear. It was a powerful moment that brought us all to tears.
I thought we were done. I thanked him and we turned to leave. Then he stopped me and touched my forehead. He blessed me and whispered something to me that I choose to keep private, but it had nothing to do with my son.
If this were a Hollywood script I would now tell you that my son suddenly began speaking in full sentences and stopped stimming. That did not happen. Instead we returned home and continued our struggle.
Over the subsequent years, Eric has continued to make progress. We continue to attack, but as previously mentioned, my desperation and despair are gone. We continue to battle tirelessly with the help of his therapists (we love you guys), doctors, teachers and family, but I have also accepted my son for the wonderful little individual he is.
Now being able to step back and remember that day in Pennsylvania, I find myself wondering if the Monsignor knew something I didn't. Maybe my son wasn't the one who needed to be healed?
Thank-you for sharing this. ((hugs)) to you and your precious family
ReplyDelete--David's mom
These sentiments are beautiful, as is your writing. Your words are sure to comfort, heal, motivate, and inspire. Thank you so much for sharing all of this.
ReplyDeleteLove this....thank you.
DeleteMiracles come in many different packages. My NT daughter was the first miracle but everything was simple about her (except ages 7 months to 4 years ~ she was nothing but DRAMA!) and everything comes easily for her. My son James was my miracle child. We were not sure we would every be able to have a second child but he came and we all fell instantly in love with him! Diagnosed with Classic Autism at 3, Epilepsy at 4 and an alphabet soup of other stuff, he is an amazing kid. 2 very differently wrapped miracles both loved beyond words.
ReplyDeleteYour blog remains my favorite. Thank you for sharing your experiences. It helps more than you may know.
ReplyDeleteThanks Mom! ; )
DeleteMy own boys' grandma even brought their shirts with her to the Holy Land to be immersed in the river Jordan, and photos of them to a healing priest too. The lengths we go to for our children. Trying to find a cure, healing, a miracle. And in the midst all this, in this journey of ours, we do find out our children are not the ones who need healing, cure, a miracle. The realization comes that we need to reach deep into our very soul, take that which is pure, forget who we thought we are, let go of what we think we deserve, and give our children the greatest love THEY deserve. When we are able to do this, we become the very miracles we seek for our children. Thank you for sharing this. :-)
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