One small miracle

Six weeks ago, I got the kind of phone call you never want to receive. My niece Jessy and her 23-month-old son Frankie had been hit and run over by a car while crossing the street near their house in Lakewood, California.

They were in a crosswalk when a car came around the corner too fast. The driver, who had not been drinking, said she didn’t see them. Yes, she did stop afterwards.

Frankie’s skull was fractured in four places. He also suffered broken ribs and internal injuries. The car ran over Jessy’s leg but somehow only bruised her.

My husband and I rushed to the hospital. With family members from both sides, we prayed and offered what comfort we could.

A week later, Frankie went home, still hurting but more or less functioning normally. None of us could believe his quick recovery.

On Sunday, we celebrated his second birthday, two weeks late. A large group of friends and relatives gathered to eat and bring presents. Little kids cracked open a piňata. Frankie ran around, and took his turn at the piňata.

Is he changed? Yes. He’s more solemn, and more easily frightened. Doctors plan to keep a close watch on his development. But he seems pretty much back to normal.

As at most family gatherings these days, there were guests who’re out of work, and others struggling with various health and financial issues. But for a few hours we set all that aside and celebrated our own small miracle.