February is a month to celebrate miracles.
In our family, it’s an eight-year tradition, but this year, I almost forgot.
It’s funny how events that were so filled with drama — and hope — could slip into the ordinariness of life.
The marker that always calls to mind my miracle — eight years as a breast cancer survivor — is a favorite February date on the calendar. That’s when two tiny twin babies arrived on the scene with God’s fingerprints all over them.
Nevertheless, the birth of our twin grandchildren, Hunter and Hailey, was a long journey — one their parents will never forget.
After enduring five years of infertility, our daughter, Traci, experienced a bi-lateral ectopic pregnancy that nearly took her life. Recovering and grief-stricken from their loss, she and her husband, Eddie, thought their opportunity for children together was over. One fallopian tube was destroyed. The other so badly scarred that it was ineffectual.
But with time — and many prayers — came hope.
The couple decided to try in vitro, a final effort to conceive. However, military orders were pending to move them to another base, one where fertility treatment would be unavailable.
So the situation seemed hopeless. A long waiting list eclipsed the time they had left.
Still, God was in control.
An inadvertent error had their names out of order on the list. Corrected, they moved ahead with the procedure. Two babies soon were growing inside the womb.
Then came the difficult news. Traci would need to be on complete bed rest for weeks until the babies could safely enter the world. More heartfelt prayers went heavenward.
I wanted to be there to help, to witness their birth, but I was on my own journey in 2003. A mammogram, a biopsy, and the news that I had breast cancer swept me away to another universe — one filled with doctors, surgery and painful recovery.
Through it all, I hoped for a miracle. Thankfully, I got three — two miracle babies, plus me.
It’s been eight years. And there are two red-headed grandchildren that always insist on a party.