I was listening intently. A little boy from the elevator? How could this be so?
“The nurses told him he couldn’t be there. He needed to go back to his family. When the McGiverns got to Chucky’s bedside they noticed that the Saint John Neumann medal Nancy had pinned to his pillow was turned the other way, facing the pillow. That wouldn’t be easy to do, I thought. Someone would have to take the pin off the pillow, take two medals off, turn the Saint John Neumann one around, and replace both of them.
Chucky made it through the night, and the next morning, when the doctors were checking him, amazed that he was still alive, the little boy appeared again. The doctors told him he had to leave. He was not family and was not allowed in the room. Chucky’s dad, who was sitting in the waiting room, saw a boy who looked just like the one the nurses had described standing at the edge of the waiting room, looking at him. When Chucky’s dad stood up and turned to go to speak with the boy, the boy walked into the elevator and the door shut behind him. When the McGiverns got to see Chucky, they saw that the Saint John Neumann medal pinned to his pillow was again turned facing the other way.
Miraculously, Chucky pulled through. The doctors who tended to him said they had never seen anyone this sick get better that fast. A few days later, when Chucky could speak again, he recalled a dream he’d had when he was in a coma. In the dream there was a party for him with many children around his hospital bed, including a little boy whom he described as wearing a plaid jacket, round glasses, and a bowl haircut, just like the mysterious visitor everyone had shooed away from his hospital room.
When Chucky got better, the family took him to visit the church of Saint Peter the Apostle in Philadelphia, the national shrine of Saint John Neumann, to pay their respects and give thanks at the tomb of the saint, who was canonized as the patron saint of sick children in 1977. The church displays images of Saint John Neumann, including a drawing of him as a little boy. Chucky was amazed by this drawing. He told his parents that the boy in the drawing was the same one he saw in his dream.
The story left me speechless. Was it possible that the little boy in the elevator, who had been part of my decisions all this time since I got sick and from the moment Emily had been diagnosed, represented even more than I had attributed to him? I touched my Saint Christopher medal reflexively. The little boy in the elevator meant hope.
“I believe there will be a second miracle confirmed when we are done,” I said.
The priest shook my hand and looked me in the eyes in that loving way of deep faith.
“I will be praying for that,” he said.
While we were going through this, we didn’t realize how quickly the word was spreading about Emily. We had asked for prayers and we got them by the thousands, more than we ever could have imagined. As we sat in her darkened room, the room dominated by the industrial sound of the ventilator that was keeping her alive, I did two things to stay in the neighborhood of hope. Sometimes I would close my eyes and consciously return to the vision I had of the bone marrow transplant hallway where I was teaching Emily to walk. Just her and me, my hand around her shoulders to steady her, as she took one small step and then another with that determined look on her face, and always with just a hint of a smile. She had made it. We had made it, her and me and Kari, and this hellish time in the PICU was all just a memory that set the stage for this incredible victory. Or, after my visit with the priest, I would open my eyes and take my strength from everyone praying for Emily.
The prayers from loved ones and strangers were helping her to survive.
Keep fighting Angel. When you get through this you will be able to face anything. NO mountain will be too big, no river too wide, no hurdle too big. You are an inspiration and you have touched many hearts. We all love you so much and we don’t even know you. I know I speak for thousands of people who support you and are waiting to see that you are free from this. Fight angel.
—Cindy Penn-Halse
Hang in there Emily. God wants what is best for you. We are praying for you and your family every day.
—Charlene Coder
Kari didn’t have the energy to post when the doctors told us to call in our families to say goodbye, and I didn’t share that news on the blog. I wanted the people who were following her progress online to stay in prayer, and not to have any doubts or sorrow. I also knew that we needed their love and support, so I took over posting on the blog to keep our followers engaged. I knew that I needed them as much as Emily did.
Keep drawing your strength from each other and, most importantly, from the Lord Jesus! He is right there beside each one of you at all times, guiding and comforting you, and giving Emily the strength and resolve she needs to fight through each minute and hour of each day. Because of your little girl, so many people—believers and nonbelievers alike—have come together to lift you all up in prayer and even are being drawn closer to the Lord themselves as a result. Fight on Em—you are cared for more than you could ever know!
—Melissa Saupp
We are praying hard in Michigan for Emily’s healing and you & Kari’s continued strength to support
