Mary, My miracle and Me

By Melanie Greene

Growing up, I often saw my mother faithfully praying the rosary. She would speak of Mary not only with reverence, but also with deep trust in her power to intercede and bring about miracles. One story stayed with me over the years—one that spoke to the quiet power of prayer and the mystery of grace.

My grandmother, who was on dialysis, had fallen seriously ill and required blood to be donated to increase her blood count. My mother donated blood in hopes of helping her, all the while praying the rosary silently on her fingers as the blood was being drawn. She remembers praying fervently that her donation would be enough and  her mother would not fall ill after receiving it, as had happened in the past. Strangely, they were only able to collect half a pint of blood from her. My grandmother later called her asking who else had donated blood on her behalf. When my mother told her it was only she, my grandmother was puzzled. She said she had received two pints of blood, both labelled with my mother’s name. Even more astonishingly, this was the only transfusion that didn’t make her feel unwell. It was also the last transfusion she would receive before her passing. That story, told many times, became part of my understanding of faith, miracles, and Mary’s quiet intercession.

Years later, I faced my own journey—one that tested every part of my faith. After suffering multiple miscarriages, I had come to accept that motherhood might not be part of my story. I made peace with it and poured my love into a puppy that became my companion and comfort.

But in 2022, I discovered I was pregnant again. I was filled with fear, already familiar with the pain of loss. My gynaecologist gave me a list of medications to support the pregnancy—most of which I had used in the past—and strict instructions to follow. Then, not long after one of my appointments, I noticed spotting. For me, spotting had always been the first sign of an inevitable loss. I broke down. But amid my fear and sorrow, I reached for something deeper: I picked up my rosary and began to pray with all my heart.

That day marked the beginning of my devotion to the rosary in a way I had never known before. I began praying it twice a day—once in the morning and once at night—each time pouring my heart out to Mary and asking for her intercession. I begged her to walk with me through this pregnancy and to protect the life growing inside me. Miraculously, that first day of spotting was also the last. The pregnancy continued without further complication.

Nine months later, after carefully following my doctor’s guidance, taking every prescribed medication, and never ceasing my prayers, I gave birth to a beautiful, full-term, healthy baby girl. We gave her the saint name Mary in honour of the Mother of Jesus—the one I believe, without question, stood with me throughout that journey. At home, we affectionately call her Miracle—because that is exactly what she is. My daughter has grown quite fond of Mary; in fact, she often finds the shrines dedicated to her on the church grounds more captivating than being inside the church itself.

When people question why Catholics honour Mary, I share my story. It’s not about worship; it’s about love and respect for the mother of our Saviour. Mary is a powerful intercessor, and the rosary, to me, is a symbol of hope, faith, and divine grace. It is my connection to Mary—a spiritual lifeline that helped carry me through some of the darkest moments of my life.

To this day, more than two years later, I still try to pray the rosary daily. It has become not just a habit, but a part of who I am — a reminder of what was, and the miraculous blessings that can come when we trust in something greater than ourselves.

Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash