Do you believe in Miracles?

The day after the DJ training in Pietra Ligure, we boarded a plane to Rome to do two things: dance with Michael Molin Skelton and tour the Colosseum. Dancing with Michael was for me—it had been six long years since I last saw my beloved teacher. Visiting the Colosseum was for my daughter, to satisfy her obsession with mythology. You might expect me to write about the embodiment inspired by Michael. While that experience was indeed fabulous and nourishing, it was my time at the Colosseum that reminded me of the miracles born from community and movement.

Like most tourists, our journey began at a ticket booth, waiting in line while making small talk with others. I opted for a family tour so that my daughter, who was bursting with questions, would have a tour that prioritized kids. We were supposed to be three families, but as we were finally given the go-ahead to start exploring the grounds around the Colosseum, only two families had arrived—my daughter and I, and a family of four from Ireland. The tour guide informed us that the other family had been delayed and would join us once we entered the Colosseum, meaning they would miss over half the tour.

When we reached the meeting point, they were nowhere to be seen. After waiting for 20 minutes, it was decided that we would continue without them. Just then, I saw a flustered woman running toward us, pushing what I initially thought was a stroller, but I soon realized it was a child's wheelchair. Laura (the mom), Marcus (12), and Lily (7)—a family from Australia—had arrived, making our group four adults, five children, and our tour guide, Julia. Julia was wonderful with the kids, setting up a friendly competition that pitted the adults against the children to see who would win a battle of wits as she quizzed us about Roman history. The kids were enjoying the camaraderie, especially since they were winning 6 to 3 by the time we entered the Colosseum. 

Laura, clearly stretched to capacity as she navigated a wheelchair around a busy tourist site not designed for accessibility, was doing her best to give both her children the experiences they desired. For Marcus, this meant walking up and down the stairs with the rest of the kids, being part of the group. Lily, who clearly adored and idolized Marcus, was eager to have him by her side. Watching their family dynamic was both beautiful and heartbreaking—conflicting desires made more complicated by loyalty. Laura wanted to give Marcus the freedom to be a kid and run the stairs, but she also had to accommodate her child who didn't have that ability... or so I thought.

The Aussie family separated from the group to take the elevator, while we waited at the top of the stairs. It was then that I heard Marcus make an awkward comment about wanting to take the stairs next time, carefully phrasing it in a way that was gentle on Lily's feelings. I was surprised when Lily began to unbuckle herself from her chair and informed her mom that she wanted to walk. As she stepped out of her chair, I noticed her movements were very uncoordinated. The left-right-left rhythm of walking, which so many of us take for granted, was a struggle for Lily with every step. Her slender legs and tiny body moved precariously alongside the literally thousands of other people circulating the middle level of the Colosseum, making me incredibly nervous. It was clear that Laura was uncomfortable too, but there was no stopping Lily. While her body may have been weak, her spirit was fierce! Poor Laura was being jostled as she tried to keep up, with the wheelchair constantly getting bumped and obstructed. With my mama bear instincts in full force, I stayed close to Lily—allowing her to be with the other kids without hovering, but ready to step in if she fell (after all, the entire structure is made of stone!). I was amazed as I noticed that, as we moved from point to point on the tour, Lily's movements became more and more coordinated. The more she engaged in the friendly competition between parents and kids, the smoother her movements became.

We arrived at the top of the stairs, ready to descend for the final challenge of the tour, when Marcus asked if he could go down with the group while his mom took Lily to the elevator, which was reserved for those with mobility issues. Lily began to roar, “I want to go down the stairs!” Laura, visibly exhausted, tried to negotiate, offering to give her a piggyback if someone would carry the chair. But Lily roared again, “No piggyback!” and took off toward the first of four flights, determined to be part of our little community. I looked into Laura’s eyes as she stared in horror at Lily's fragile, fleeing body and I asked, “What can I do to help?” Laura replied, “Just make sure she doesn’t fall.”

Instantly, my daughter and I sprang into action, ducking under ropes and skirting past crowds to keep our promise. Lily was a force—she stumbled but didn’t fall, making her way down four flights of precarious, 1600-year-old stone stairs as we all followed her. Marcus held her hand, I darted in and out ahead to clear the path, and J flanked her the whole way.

When Lily reached the bottom, she stood there with the biggest smile on her face. At that same moment, her mother rounded the last turn and exclaimed, “The doctor told me this child would never even walk!” The tour guide whispered to me that this was the first time she had ever witnessed a miracle.

At the bottom of the stairs, the children won the competition, and promises were made that the parents would buy them ice cream. The tour ended abruptly, and all the families scattered. I stood stunned at the entrance where I had first met Lily, tears streaming down my cheeks. Everything you just read took less than 15 minutes, but it will stay with me forever.

While our tour guide had only witnessed this one miracle, I have seen many. Most are not as outwardly epic as this one, but I have no doubt that many are just as profound. I’ve been told time and time again, “Dance saved my life.” I know what this really means is that moving together as part of a community and truly belonging has opened doors for people to walk in a new way. This potential for everyday miracles—to walk in new ways—exists in dance spaces all over the world. Michael showed me this on Friday night, and then Lily showed me again the very next day.

I dedicate this blog post as a prayer for Laura, Lily, and Marcus, imagining them safely home in Australia. I will likely never meet Lily again, but having witnessed her indomitable spirit, I have no doubt that her next step will be to dance. May it be so.

Love from Bernice & J.