Christmas was always a very special time of year for the McKinnon household. We didn't always have a lot of gifts, but the holiday had deeper meaning for us than opening presents. Christmas was about family get-togethers with music, laughter, singing, and feasting on our mother's wonderful cooking after our father's prayer of thanksgiving.

December of 1977 looked to be no different. Preparations were well under way for another great family get-together, and everyone wondered excitedly who would draw whose name in our gift selection game. On December 15th, my 65-year-old mother, Lula, told me her doctor wanted her to check into the hospital to investigate her irregular heartbeat. Nothing serious, she assured me. It was just routine.

As I drove her to the hospital, my mother remembered something about the previous August when my wife, Patrice, and I told her and my father the good news that we were expecting our first child. I'm not sure why, but as my mother spoke, a dark thought occurred to me. My own grandmother Ellen had died shortly before my birth in 1943. Would the same fate await our unborn child's grandmother?

The day after Mother checked into the hospital, I was shocked to get a call that I should get to the hospital as soon as possible. The young woman from patient services was compassionate as she led me to my mother's physician. I had faced many crisis situations during my military and law enforcement careers, but there was little that prepared me for when the doctor told me that my mother had suffered two heart attacks and a stroke and was in a coma.

I thought I was in a bad dream, she had only been at the hospital overnight for tests. How could this be happening? My younger sister Gloria arrived, and we listened as the doctor explained that our mother wasn't responding. He suggested that we speak to her; perhaps the sound of our voices would wake her up.

Entering the critical care unit, we saw tubes protruding from Mother's mouth and nose, and machines bleeping away, monitoring her feeble life signs. The doctor said, "In her condition and at her age, there is a strong possibility that she may not recover." His calm demeanor put both of us at ease and helped me steel myself for telling the rest of the family. I asked the doctor if there was anything I could do to help. "Pray for a Christmas miracle," he said.

I drifted down the empty corridor, wiping my eyes and trying to gather my thoughts. I slowly walked into the hospital chapel, slid into a short pew, and began to pray out loud. I then called my priest, Fr. Norm Thomas, who came to the hospital where he, my sister Gloria, and I prayed. 

For the next several days, I would arrive at my mother’s bedside, grasp her hand, and talk to her. I told her how Pat's pregnancy was going and that we couldn't wait for her to meet her next grandchild.

Two days before Christmas, my sister Gloria called me from the hospital almost hyperventilating, excitedly telling me that our mother was awake and talking and preparing for our annual Christmas celebration. I dropped the phone and hurried to the hospital.

My mother smiled as I walked into her room and listened as she talked of how good she was feeling and wanted to get home. It was an incredible day. We had all but given up hope that we would ever speak with our mother again, yet there she was, being her usual animated self. We all went home feeling blessed and fortunate.

Early the next morning, Christmas Eve, yet another phone call came from the hospital. “Please return to the hospital as soon as possible,” they asked. When I arrived, the doctor's head was low, and he was looking at the floor. "Doc, I feel that you have bad news for me," I asked. “Yes,” he said with tears in his eyes. "Your mother passed this morning after another heart attack and stroke."

I thought about how I'd hoped for a Christmas miracle that would save our mother. In the sadness that engulfed our family, it slowly occurred to me that indeed we had gotten our miracle. Our mother had been gone, but she had come back to us for one full glorious day. Our entire family had gotten a second chance to share our love with our mother. That was our Christmas Miracle.

Isaiah McKinnon, Ph.D., former chief of police and deputy mayor of the city of Detroit, is a member of the Board of Trustees at Sacred Heart Major Seminary.