Pristine Immaculate Angel
I believe in the possibilities of miracles. I believe that miracles happen. I believe miracles happen every day. I believe this simply because I have seen miracles happen before my eyes. One particular incident determined my belief was the miraculous life of my faith-driven grandfather.
Sitting, waiting, wishing, and hoping in the waiting room of the hospital we were indefinitely waiting for the results. In walks a man in the pristine angelic cape, a strong well filled out man following, our hands begin to sweat, and it’s the moment we’ve all been dreading.
“Its pancreatic cancer,” declares the man with the clipboard in the white smock.
A lifetime of memories and future memories flash before the eyes of our strong intertwined family. Through the flash backs and flash forwards, the friendly doctor inevitably continues, “Six months.” Instantly waterfalls of tears flood the room. Bewildered eyes search for the man who has enveloped many hearts. At first look the diagnosis seems to have greatly impacted this son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, this man. However, as seconds, minutes, hours, and days pass this fear begins to wash away along with the floods of tears. Faith grew and completely filled this man, proving he was not a victim of death but a survivor. This ever-growing contagious faith not only changed his life but also began to raise up throughout the entire family, despite the weak, skinny frame of a man. But faith is the belief in something without visible proof. Regardless of the outward appearance, it was evident to the family that this diagnosis will not prevail.
The day of the six-month reunion arrived and left, uneventful. Twelve-month reunion, arrived and left, uneventful. Eighteen-month reunion, arrived and left, uneventful. In spite of the concrete medical evidence continuously trying to subordinate the faith of a determined man, he miraculously surpassed the expectations of the doctors. Reaching two years, the never wavering faith of a grandfather is still endlessly growing. The unbreakable faith within a tired man proves strong enough, however, on that summer day of 2004; my grandfather had to make a decision.
This life altering decision was between Papa and the source of his Faith. In the presence of his daughter, two sons, wife, and a pristine immaculate angel, my grandfather reached the decision. In his bedroom with his family, Papa decided he wanted to go home. Sitting, waiting, wishing, and hoping in the living room of the house in walks my mother, followed by a pristine immaculate angel that we still refer to as Papa. The last two years with my grandfather were miraculous years. I don’t just simply believe in the possibility of miracles. Because of my grandfather and his faith I know miracles are real, just as real as my grandfather was.

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