There were plenty of miracles surrounding my mom's last days. One of those miracles was hospice, which is frankly a miracle in and of itself. The folks who do this work/vocation are truly called to a ministry, even though most hospice care is not typically religious in nature.
My mom, a retired RN, was a hospice volunteer for many years. Her role was mainly to help the spouse or caretaker of the patient for respite - a wife could go out and get her hair done or a son could get some groceries. One of her favorite "patients" was a gentleman who loved to play cards; they would spend an afternoon playing.
Mom had hospice care in the nursing home. One afternoon, when I was there with both my sisters, the hospice social worker stopped by. She was a thin woman, with dark hair, cut simply. She had large, soft eyes behind trendy glasses.
Now, I must confess I don't have a great deal of love for social workers. Having raised five special needs kids, our family has dealt with a LOT of social workers, and most of them weren't ... good. There was one who made such a terrible impression with one visit my kids mutinied and refused to work with her. (They were completely justified.) Another met with me to decide what Dark-haired daughter's needs were and how best to meet them - and started the meeting by telling me she hadn't had time to read the file. The meeting went downhill from there.
The hospice worker was a gentle soul, and asked me and my sisters to tell her about Mom. She listened enthusiastically, and then spoke to Mom. Mom's lack of response did not deter her. The worker knelt down close to Mom, and started to sing to her - hymns. She prayed the 23rd Psalm. She stroked her arm.
This just doesn't happen in the world of social work. Every social worker I've ever known - good, bad or indifferent - is studiously respectful of faith, but avoid it like the proverbial plague. It's nice for you folks, but we can't discuss it.
Yet this lovely woman prayed and sang and shared God's love with Mom, me and my sisters for almost two hours.
There are no small miracles.