Do I believe in miracles? Absolutely! Ten years ago, I sat by my wife Patricia as the doctor told us I had a bone marrow blood disease, only curable with a stem cell transplant. I had been rejected by a premier cancer center because I was “75 and too old” for such a risky procedure. Fortunately, Tampa’s Moffitt Cancer Center had found a 33-year-old donor who, after joining the Navy, had registered as a bone marrow donor thinking, “What better way to serve God?” He had waited 17 years for a successful match!
Although survival statistics were low for someone my age, I never worried about making it. From the first night in the hospital, God sent a nurse technician, Maria, to stand at my bedside and pray for me. I felt I was in God’s and Maria’s hands. The procedure was successful, and there was no immune rejection.
In the years since returning to Naples, my faith, and the best caregiver—my wife, whom I nicknamed “Saint Patricia”—kept me upright. Most of us don’t often appreciate how crucial a loving touch and kind words are, especially from a spouse of nearly sixty years.
My wife passed about a year ago, leading me to ask God, “Why?” After her funeral, I took a near-fatal fall, breaking two neck bones. Amid excruciating pain, I prayed, “Please God, take me with Pat.” But I’m still here and I am not asking why anymore; instead, I’m asking God what He wants for me before I’m united with my Saint Patricia.
by Phil Jones
