Upon my AE diagnosis in 2018, I got my eyes and mind going again by rereading the Harry Potter series. I’ve never stopped believing in St. Nicholas’s gifts. And I’ll never forget the anonymous Christmas card Sean and I received that fateful year with a few hundred dollars cash. That told us to keep laughing.
I believe in magic.
My law school classmate, Rachel, and I reconnected in late 2018, when I was sick and she was dying of cancer. But by her attitude and blogs, I was convinced she’d stay forever. She lived larger than life in one of the greatest cities in the world, New York.
I’ll always remember my first Brain Walk, in February 2020, right before the world shut down. When 100 people, including Rachel’s mom, Pat, and her stepdad showed up for me and for AE. When I saw Pat hug my mom and felt the unfairness of it all.
It was that day. That Saturday in February at the YMCA, when Pat told me Rach leaves her dimes. Heavenly dimes.
And if you’ve read Let It Be you know that Rach left me my first dime the day after my book launched. When I looked down in counseling the next morning and the coin was right next to my shoe.
I believe in miracles.
And then there’s my sweet dad. At his funeral, our cousin, Jan, told me she hadn’t heard about dimes from heaven, but she knew about feathers. And if you’ve read It’s Alright you know that Dad lets us know he’s watching.
This summer, we bought a new car (OMG, leave me alone, it was a new van). Dad was a motorhead. He approved of all my cars and test drove the last two with me, but not this one. We drove it straight to Mom’s with the whole family in tow. And when I got out to greet her, stuck to the right fender, like I’ve never seen before, was a tiny feather.
Dad and Rach. They’re always there for me. Sending love, white light, and a constant reminder of all that’s right in my world when too much feels wrong.
Their miracles and others are everywhere. Because I believe. And look for them.
Quite recently, I had a conversation with my big kids. About magic and Christmas, and the magic of Christmas. And their little hearts broke. But I lead the conversation with the proclamation that You know how Mom believes… and miracles… and Grandpa’s feathers and Rachel’s dimes. They’re keenly aware. And keep their eyes peeled. Even the 4-year-old, Grandpa’s best little friend.
But I can’t lie, sometimes I get worried. That I haven’t seen a dime in a while. Or that the feathers may all blow away. That my health is just too much.
In 2024, I have been subjected to serious chronic pain, a lot of new (and rare!) ailments, surgery, MRIs, CT scans, specialists, 13-vial blood draws, and so much more. Day after day, week after week, I fear I’ll crack. That just one small thing will finally do it.
And then two weeks ago, I had to unexpectedly vacate my office. And because of it, I lost something. Something that meant far more to me than its physical space. That new sense of purpose and belonging I’ve been desperately striving for for over six years now, felt like it vanished.
And that did it. I unraveled.
My grief is always lingering right under the surface. It only takes a scratch for it to resurge. Instantly, I was a wreck and Jackie’s faded, yet greatest hits began to play. The why, the waste, and the what now flowed out. (Sad) Yada (sad) yada (sad) yada. And now I need to rebuild. Afuckinggain.
I just can’t anymore. I can’t with my health. I can’t have things taken anymore. I cannot lose things with or without meaning. It all felt painful.
Two days later, as I tried to act normal, and scrambled to heal and calm myself and formulate a next step, I also took my oldest, my 12-year-old daughter, to go shopping for a Salvation Army angel tree gift.
Our blessings run deep, and tween girls are obsessed with Starbucks. So she asked (begged) for a drink to shop at Target. Fine.
We ordered and as we waited on the drink, she grabbed a cup off the wall lined with a LOT of Starbucks cups. It sparkled and glittered, and she hinted that it was so super cute (that I should buy it for her). I was in a hurry and only nodded along as she talked about its cuteness and unscrewed the lid.
But what transpired was nothing short of a miracle. Pure magic in various forms. I began listening and opened my eyes.
“Mom, look. It’s from Rachel.”
With the top off, she tipped the cup down for me to peer into. And my God above, a dime was in the bottom.
A dime.
My tween knew it was from Rachel. She knew and she believed.
And so did I.
Right then and there, I had a Grinch moment. But an X-ray over my body wouldn’t have shown my growing heart; it would’ve captured a beautiful white light filling my entire being. What Rachel promised in some of her final writings.
That thing called hope.
That we cannot see. But we can feel. What we know keeps us going. Even in our darkest times.
In that moment, as I was overcome by the brightness, I silently said, Thanks Rach.
God, I needed that. I needed Rachel that day. I needed the reminder that it’s all going to work out. That my life is so full of blessings. It’s so rich. And that what I do matters greatly. No matter where or how I do it.
And anytime I start to doubt, it feels like Dad or Rach reminds me.
Pat is right, Rach really is the best kind of angel. And I’m so glad she’s one of mine.
As we coast (get flung into headfirst) into the holidays, let us all take a few moments to count our blessings. Even the ones where we have to fiddle with the cap and peer through the dark to bear witness.
If you need so badly for hope to fill you up, remember: Miracles are everywhere. You just have to believe. And look for them.
Wishing you love, hope, and special angels,
(and Rachel’s wicked sense of humor where I became “Enid”)
jackie
PS In my awe-filled state, I definitely kept the dime, but didn’t think to buy the cup. Until I shared the TikTok video of the story (you can watch here) and my friend Sheila told me she sure hoped I bought the cup for myself or at least for my daughter… I went back to get it. It’s now wrapped under the tree – To: Kennedy From: An Angel.
"Call on your angels
Come down to the city
Crowd around the big tree
All you strangers who know me
Bring your compassion
Your understanding
Lord, how we need it
On this New York City Christmas
"Yeah, I'm sending you a Merry New York Christmas
And a prayer for peace on Earth within our time
Hear the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah
And we understand them
Now more than ever
"So call on your angels
Your beaten and broken
It's time that we mend them
So they don't fade with the season
Let our mercy be the gifts we lay
And celebrate each and every day
Of this New York City Christmas" A New York Christmas ~ by Rob Thomas
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/ / The JM Stebbins blog is an autoimmune encephalitis blog from former lawyer and autoimmune encephalitis survivor, Jackie M. Stebbins.
Jackie M. Stebbins is also the author of Unwillable: A Journey to Reclaim my Brain, a book about autoimmune encephalitis, resilience, hope, and survival. / /