Before Christmas, my aunt Mary Ann’s life hung by a thread.  A bleed in the brain landed her in the hospital.  Comatose.  Unresponsive.  Under the Mercy.  It was thirteen gut-wrenching days, with many heart-wrenching ones to follow.  On the thirteenth day she opened her eyes.  Later she moved her finger, her arm.  Any progress seemed a miracle.

On a recent trip back to see her sister, my mom saw a totally different woman from the comatose sister: the old Mary Ann, or almost.  The neurologist who watched over her in ICU told mom, “It’s not because of anything we did” that she’s returning to form.  They did all they could, and expected the worse.

My cousins started a blog to show the progress of their beloved mother and just how thin the thread.  Also, to encourage and thank all those who teetered with them on the edge of life and death, praying, hoping, believing, even though belief for a miracle seemed a wisp of air to grasp at best.

We watch and still pray.  Stunned, thankful.  Amazed at the kindness and grace of God.