I’ll never forget the first time I held her. When I knelt down onto the dirty concrete floor and gathered her into my arms after two years of waiting, there was no way to stop the tears.
She was tiny- so much lighter than she should have been, like a porcelain doll. Weeks later, when my husband and I were bringing her and her baby sister home at last, we were forced to sprint through the Miami airport with them in our arms to make our next flight.
Our carry-on bags were far heavier.
Two days later we took them to the doctor. She shook uncontrollably in the waiting room, so terrified I feared she would go into shock. As soon as the doctor walked into the room, both girls began to scream in terror. We did all we could to comfort them, but the memories of previous experiences with medical professionals were too fresh.
A few days later the results of the first limited examination were complete. She had not one vicious parasite, but five. Many doses of medicine later, her distended stomach began to shrink. The color returned to her face. Bones lengthened, and muscles thickened.
Three years later she went in for her 8-year-old well check to the pediatrician who once terrified her. He walked into the room, and she greeted him with a twinkling eyes, and a big hug. The official diagnosis: Strong as an ox.
Soon, we would discover that she had grown as fleet as a deer as well.
I watched her run tonight, a perfect stride than can only be inherited, not taught. Long brown legs pumped to keep up with fellow track team members years her senior. A little while later, the little girl who was so weak 3 years ago that she could not climb into the family van by herself, nailed 11ft 3inches in the long jump.
The Miracle Maker is alive and well.
And I am just honored to be a witness on the sidelines.