Padre Pio and the Miracle Walk

God has a funny way of reminding us he’s in charge. When I retired about two and-a-half years ago, my first order of business was restructuring my life so I could remain relevant and productive. So many decisions about what direction to take! God, of course, reminded me He’d be setting my path, thank you! And He did it in a rather dramatic way.

About a year-and-a-half ago, I had an extensive spinal surgery. The 10-hour procedure was successful, but it greatly affected my ability to walk. Basically, I couldn’t. Seven weeks into my intense, in-patient rehab, I was thrilled that my steps had grown stronger with the help of exercise and a walker.

One particular morning, however, I woke up knowing I had no legs. All the strength was gone. All of it. Gone. It was as though I had rubber bands for legs. I was on the verge of panic, fearing something had gone wrong and I’d never walk again.

I had to stand twice before my actual physical therapy began. I had to use my arms, not legs, just to hoist myself up on the walker. When the session actually started, my legs held, at most, five percent of my weight. Makayla, my therapist, asked me to begin by turning the corner around the therapy table, two steps at most. I slowly shuffled, still using almost all arms. But for some reason, probably my Italian stubbornness, I asked to walk to a piece of tape on the floor about four or five additional steps away. She said yes and I did. And I kept going. All around the gym. The whole gym. On my legs.

I got back to the starting point and collapsed into the wheelchair, fatigued, flabbergasted and flummoxed. Makayla had no explanation.

After a 10-minute rest and “How the hell did I do that” questions, I asked if I could try again. I took another lap around the gym and once again fell into the wheelchair with just as many questions as before.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Makayla said after several minutes. “Want to wheel outside?”

It, indeed, was a beautiful day outside and, within a few minutes, she tossed out what I interpreted as a dare.

Want to try to walk out here?” Makayla asked, knowing my stubbornness would prevent me from turning down the challenge.

I pulled myself up, walked the perimeter of the courtyard, and happily sat down in the wheelchair. My legs were heavy, I was tired, and I heard my hospital bed calling. But my emotions were was sky high and my session wasn’t over yet.

“Think you have another one in you?” she asked.

My head said “no” but I wasn’t about to give in now.

I ran out of gas at the halfway point. Really – enough was enough! But after turning for home, I felt somehow energized. Nothing was wrong. No permanent damage. No lifetime in a wheelchair. Victory!

I don’t know why but I then did something that, in retrospect, was pretty stupid. I raised my walker in the air and kept walking. With no support. Just like normal. Ten unassisted steps! How did that happen?

Stealing legendary journalist Paul Harvey’s line, here’s the “rest of the story.”

A couple of hours before PT, I had a long, wonderful visit from Russell Tooke, a dear friend of 36 years from St. Joseph’s choir. Before he left, I asked Russ if he would anoint me with oil blessed with a relic of St. Padre Pio. Russ was reluctant at first, saying he wasn’t worthy. But he gave in and anointed me with the holy oil.

The story is true. No exaggeration. Take from it what you will. I believe it was a miracle.