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

Last November 2008, I was on my way to Asilo for the feast day of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. That time, I was not very intent in 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.

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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 “flatline” sound which I usually hear in 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 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 tightly and told him. “Don’t do that again, Pappy, you scared me.” He just smiled and winked at me. I kept telling that everything would be okay and he’d 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.

While I was talking to him, the nurse saw that there was something wrong with his vital signs. I was going to ask him something but he let go of my hand. And I heard the scary “flatline” sound again. I kept calling him 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 wouldn’t function. They had to change the machine not once but twice.

The other machines wouldn’t work just like the other ones. I saw my Dad lifeless and the incessant flatline 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 needed him and that I wasn’t ready to lose him. I can’t recall how many times that night I pleaded to Mama Mary while I cried unabashedly.

Suddenly the deafening sound stopped and I saw the vital signs go 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 same night I never stopped thanking Mama Mary and God for giving me two great miracles in my life. First I got my Dad back and second, I was able 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 a form of a person. A miracle mirrors God’s eternal Love for us. True enough, God showed me the truest sense of love in the person I truly cared about. Last year, I experienced one great miracle when I learned to love my Dad even more.

That’s what God wants us to do – to love and honor our parents as much as He loves us. Just as a wise man said, “Where there is great love, there are always miracles.”