Miracles can happen. No, not that I've seen one recently. But I heard a story on the radio this morning (from NPR's Story Corps) about a little boy whose life was saved. It was told by a man who had been the little boy, the story of a time when he leant out of his family's five-story window a little too far and lost his grip, a fall he never would have survived, except for the barber neighbor who had come home from work early that day and was at the door to the building just at that moment. In the right place at precisely the right time. He quickly ripped off his jacket, reached out, and caught the boy (who was presumably only about 5.5 ft from the ground by then). He saved the little boy's life, and it became the most important moment in his own life, as well. A miracle for both of them, this unfathomable chance of random events coming together.
This is the kind of miracle I can believe in: the wonder and amazement of the what-ifs, the literally fantastic luck of timing. When the tragic action (of a car, of a slip or fall, of a cell, of a clot) is caught by the reaction of someone with a jacket, who just happened to be there at the right time. Where there is simply an action and a reaction, and no claim of one or the other without its partner. This is the kind of miracle that isn't there for so many, all the people who wonder "Why me?" or "Why her?" So many opportunities for a different fate, missed by miles or by hairs, the extent is no comfort because the outcome is the same.
This is how I feel right now: I have been walking, trying to run, down this street towards the building, watching her fall inexorably and slowly for more than three years like time is molasses. I don't even have a jacket on, and it took so long to process what I was seeing (and denial is so powerful), and I wasn't there at the window and I wasn't there to see the hand slip and I wasn't there to grab it. And nobody else was there either: the doctors guarding the windows failed in their jobs to watch over and test the windows against this possibility (was it their hubris? ignorance? or the age-old problem of who is going to pay for it?). Why do some of these goddamn windows have so many guardians and others are barely noticed? Some very, very good people have tried in vain to reach out and catch from other windows along the way down, like her parents running from floor to floor to floor. Good people set up experimental superstrong magnets that they are trialing to see if they can use to slow the fall or even stop time. But none of these things have worked. We needed either for the windows to be better guarded or for someone to have been there with a jacket at the very first fall of the very first cells going wrong and pumping out cortisol THAT WAS THERE IN HER BLOOD FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE IF ANYONE HAD JUST LOOKED. There would have been the time to catch her, and change the course of history.
So here we are now, there is still room for hope. Hope that at the most, the fall is slowed enough to give her time to look around and enjoy the feeling of flying, the beautiful sunshine outside, and all the people down there reaching out their ineffectual arms wishing they could catch her with the sheer force of their love. And at the very least, hope that with the here and now, our unique position in history, that we are on the cusp of something better. We have the opportunity and are beginning to develop the understanding to create tools to be there, at the right place and the right time, when they need it and before it is too late. All we can do is hope for the miraculous: that we are there, with our jackets out, ready to catch people.