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Tinton Falls Dad on Miracles

It was a powerful moment that brought us all to tears.

 

I was fully engaged in desperate attack mode on Eric's Autism.  I was flailing at any possible shred of hope to fix him.  We were making progress, but I felt our window of opportunity was closing... 

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?

 

Jerry recently began writing about his family's experiences with Autism in his personal blog (Bacon and Juice Boxes:  Our Life With Autism).  You can follow him on Twitter @jturning and on Facebook (www.facebook.com/baconandjuiceboxes).

This post is contributed by a community member. The views expressed in this blog are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Patch Media Corporation. Everyone is welcome to submit a post to Patch. If you'd like to post a blog, go here to get started.

MJ Lepore March 21, 2012 at 04:22 AM
I have a child with Down Syndrome and have had a similar experience to yours, although because of the genetic component I knew she couldn't be fixed. I had a difficult time accepting what had happened and I too went to a healing Mass in Doylestown, Pa. when she was a baby. As I looked around I realized that she didn't belong there, she wasn't going to be healed, she was not sick, I was the one who needed to accept what had happened to her. Long story short, there were no miracles, at least not in the way I wanted back then. The truth is this has been the best and most difficult thing to happen to us. She is now 20 years old and is considered to be on the spectrum with bipolar disorder. My other children love her like no other, but life with her can be very challenging, As for me, I have long forgotten the hopes I had before she was born, I now hope she is happy and when I am no longer around, she is well cared for. In some ways I envy her, she doesn't worry about today or tomorrow, she lives in the moment. Maybe that was the miracle I was looking for, she has taught me to take life one day at a time, and appreciate each day for what it is. I'm not gonna lie, there are days when I have had enough, and then she will hug me and say Mommy I love you, and I know that is one thing she does truly understand.

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