My son is and will always be my Christmas miracle
On December 19, 1995, my son Wyatt was born in respiratory distress. Because he was delivered by c-section, I had to remain in the hospital in our home town while Wyatt went first by ambulance, then by helicopter to the hospital in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
I had never known such sadness as wondering if my tiny boy was doing well or fading. I felt angry and then heartbroken that I couldn’t be with him, holding him while he fought so hard to survive.
My pastor and members of my church came to visit me many times. When I finally got word that Wyatt might be released from the hospital on Christmas Day, possibly Christmas Eve, I shared the news with my pastor.
He said, “Christmas Eve would be just wonderful.” I warned him that the doctors were thinking that it would be Christmas Day, and that Christmas Eve might be expecting too much.
I was finally released from the hospital on December 23. The next morning, Christmas Eve, my brother drove me to Minneapolis so I could be with Wyatt.
As I entered the Newborn Intensive Care Unit, the nurse asked if I had brought the car seat, because Wyatt was ready to go home.
I just cried and cried, so relieved that Wyatt was finally well. I took Wyatt to church on Christmas Day.
And learned that Pastor Dale had gone from the hospital to the church after visiting with me and had started a prayer circle for Wyatt, asking that Wyatt could come home by Christmas Eve.
Now that he is twelve, sturdy and strong, a football player and a wrestler, I can barely recall that tiny little boy who clung to life by such a short breath.
What I do remember are the people who prayed for Wyatt’s health and my faith and patience while the doctors did their work. Wyatt is and will always be my Christmas miracle.
Megan Pratt
