I believe most people will get to witness one big miracle in their lifetime. Something so incredible, it leaves you forever changed. That miracle happened to me on April 23, 1959, in North Hollywood, California, an ordinary Thursday.
I was 19. The mother of a toddler with another on the way—and soon. I was nine months pregnant. I should’ve been lying on the couch, avoiding stress. But stress I had in spades. Not only was I looking after my son—18-month-old Vern—but my mother had roped me into baby-sitting three of my younger siblings: two-year-old Hugh, five-year-old Lolly and
