The hour had come. My wife was up at 6AM and at the hospital at 7AM. Our daughter, Joan Avin, had been admitted the evening before with our first grandchild nestled in her womb.
Due to some complications, she was being “induced” a full week before her scheduled due date. So, on the morning of April 28, the family was officially on alert.
By 9 that night, the doctors had decided the process itself was not working very well. They proposed a Caesarean section. Our daughter and her husband, Rob, agreed. When there was no news by 11PM, we grew worried. My wife, who had given birth to seven children — two of whom were by Caesarean section — was normally done with the procedure well within an hour. We sought information from the desk on the fifth floor of Lankenau Hospital. They had none to give. By 11:30PM we were convinced that there was a problem, perhaps a serious one. We began a rosary.
During the meditations I thought back to the events of the past year within our family. We had lost one of our children under very tragic circumstances. My brother had lost his wife and daughter — my godchild — under equally tragic circumstances. We had lost our mother to end-stage Alzheimer’s. Yet in the midst of this sorrow came the joy of new, precious, sacred life. And it was a joy most unexpected.
Rob and Joan had struggled mightily, without success, to conceive in their first years of marriage. Doctors advised artificial insemination. The couple said no. Then their neighbors, Jim and Felicia Coffey, told them the story of Gianna Beretta Molla.
Gianna Molla was a wife, mother and physician who lived and worked in Italy from 1922 to 1962. When complications arose with her fourth pregnancy, her doctors advised her to abort the child so that they could remove a uterine tumor. They told her it was quite likely she would die giving birth otherwise. Gianna Molla said no. She knew that her child was a gift from God and could not be aborted under any circumstances. “No,” she said, “deliver the child. The rest we will leave to God.” Physicians did as they were instructed. Gianna Molla gave birth to her daughter, Gianna Emmanuela Molla, on April 21, 1962. Seven days later, Gianna died.
Her heroism gave rise to a cult following — first in Italy, then in Western Europe, spreading ultimately to the United States.
Young couples in particular began petitioning for her intercession, asking that they might conceive and safely deliver children. A growing number of couples reported having their prayers answered. Ultimately, all of this caught the attention of the Vatican. A canonization process was initiated on November 6, 1972. Gianna Beretta Molla was beatified by Pope John Paul II on April 24, 1994, and canonized a saint on May 16, 2004.
The Coffeys gave Joan and Rob two Gianna prayer cards — one for their nightstand, and another for their refrigerator. Night and day, literally, the young couple prayed to Gianna.
One night, a number of months ago, the Coffeys knocked on the door of Joan and Rob’s home. They bought with them a second-class relic — a glove — of Gianna Beretta Molla. They asked if they could lay the relic on Joan’s abdomen and pray with the couple, beseeching Gianna’s intercession that Rob and Joan might conceive and safely deliver a child. The two couples prayed and trusted.
As our family prayed in the hospital, we knew the first part of the prayer had been answered. We were now praying that the child, and her mother, would be safe.
Shortly before midnight, a rather large figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway. He was grinning, quite literally, from ear to ear. It was our son-in-law. He announced: “She made it. She’s here. Alive and well. Eight pounds, fourteen ounces. She’s all girl.”
My wife and several of our children immediately asked if they could see mother and daughter. Our son-in-law said, “Sure, follow me.” We walked past a station of nurses who looked like they wanted to flag our little posse but, in their great kindness, resisted the urge. In moments, we beheld a small miracle. The child was bright pink with dark hair and eel blue eyes. She also had a very strong set of lungs… like her mother.
Our daughter said, “Her name is Mary Kate Michelle Avin.” The name was, if you’ll excuse the expression, pregnant with meaning. Her great-grandmother’s name is Mary and she was now lying on her deathbed just five miles away. Kate is the name of a sister that had stood with Joan through some of the most difficult moments in her life. And Michelle was the name of our lost child, Joan’s sister, for whom we all continued to mourn.
But the greatest surprise was to come. I asked the time of delivery. “10:39PM,” our son-in-law said.
I said, “You mean this child was delivered before midnight? Why did it take over an hour to tell us?”
“Well, there were a few complications,” Rob said. “We were told about them by the doctors some months ago; we just didn’t share the information with you. The baby had a two-cord vessel in the umbilical cord. Normally there are three. There were concerns that she might be severely underweight or autistic, even retarded. That she came out perfect is a small miracle.
Then our daughter spoke. “Do you know what day it is, Dad?” she asked.
“No,” I said. To be honest, I didn’t have the faintest idea at this point what day of the week it was.
Joan said, “She was born before midnight, Dad, on April 28th — the feast day of Blessed Gianna Beretta Molla.”
This article appeared in Amazing Grace for Mothers. Brian J. Gail is a contributor to Amazing Grace for Mothers, a collection of 101 stories of faith, inspiration, hope, and humor. To learn more, visit AmazingGraceOnline.
