Angels floated the baby

It was 1978, and my two-year-old son was ‘making music’ in the kitchen. I had read in books that children could get into the lower cupboards. So, as a precaution, inside those, I’d stored all the pots and pans along with other unbreakable items. Carlos loved to crawl into them and pull out various pots with wooden and plastic spoons to use as drumsticks. The racket was often exhausting, but I didn’t like to deprive him of the fun he was having.
One beautiful summer day I opened the back door and brought some of the pots and spoons outside on the small sheltered balcony for the baby to play. We lived on the second floor, and the enclosed balcony was chest level, and the stairs were gated and locked. I was sure my baby would be safe. I happily cleaned my house, enjoying the quietness inside but suddenly felt very uneasy. It was too quiet.
Screams filled the air at that same moment of my concern. I rushed to the balcony and was horrified to see my baby was gone! I could hear loud voices and looked toward several Italian grandmas who lived across the way.
Our backyards were separated only by chain-link fences. There was no alleyway. As I watched them all make the sign of the cross on their foreheads and chests one lady in very broken English called out to me, “Baby fall. Angels floated the baby!” I looked over the balcony, my heart nearly exploding with fear and saw Carlos. He sat in his diaper on the grass. His arms reached up to someone he could see but I could not, and he was giggling.
Those grandmas were very religious ladies. If they said they saw angels floating my baby safely to the ground, then that is what they saw. That was the first miracle.
The second miracle happened in the front of the same house. I sat on the porch drinking coffee with the lady who lived next door while our children played on the lawn. Suddenly the screeching of tires filled the air, and I looked to see a car trying to stop in time to avoid hitting my baby. I didn’t have time to think. Somehow I was able to propel my body through the air and onto the road. In what seemed like a second I’d grabbed Carlos, and we both fell back onto the grass. My baby looked up at me and reached his hands to wipe the tears away that had been streaming down my cheeks. He looked bewildered but not afraid.
I looked up at the car that had narrowly missed hitting us. The driver of the vehicle sat sobbing, his head resting on his folded arms over his steering wheel. I could not take my eyes off him, feeling overwhelmed at the site. He said nothing as he composed himself, but I knew. I knew he was thanking God for answering his prayer. He’d prayed for God to help him avoid hitting the baby.
As I walked back up the steps, Carlos safe in my arms, my neighbour asked, “How did you do that? One second you were here with me, I look away, and there you are in the middle of the road with your baby! I blink, and you’re lying on the grass with your baby on your chest! What happened?” I said, because there was no other answer, “A miracle.”
I’ve gone back to look at that porch, and it is easily 20 feet from the road. It is not physically possible for me to leap from the porch to the street. It is not physically possible for my baby to have safely floated from the second story to the first story. There is only one explanation, miracles.
© 2016 Zora Zebic

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