I never imagined the defining moment of my life would arrive as I lay helpless — isolated by six weeks of intensive care, in a coma and on a ventilator, my body failing in every way. My odds were grim: COVID-19 ignited raging bacterial pneumonia in both lungs, sepsis burned through my system, my kidneys failed and required dialysis, and blood clots formed in my brain. My fever peaked at 104.5°F. The doctors said my chance of survival sat at just 4%. Things were so dire that my son Jon was granted a “last visit.” Although my wife Evelyn’s faith never wavered, she was not prepared to say goodbye.

When I emerged from my coma, the prognosis was bleak. Doctors warned I might never walk freely again; my lungs were 80% damaged and scarred, and there was doubt I’d ever breathe without oxygen. Dialysis for life was not out of the question. Chronic lung and kidney problems are common for survivors of severe COVID-19. And yet, my fight was never truly solitary.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, prayed fervently for my recovery. Friends, family, parishioners and complete strangers offered intercession.

Only two visitors were permitted through the hospital’s strict quarantine: Father Stefan Starzynski and my son Jon. Known for bringing comfort and Christ’s healing to the suffering, Father came as a minister of a grace our Church has treasured since its earliest days — the Anointing of the Sick, with the oil of the sick blessed by the bishop at the annual Chrism Mass.

Jon carried another kind of oil — chrism reserved from the baptism of Paul Stefan, our newborn son who passed away in 2005, just 40 minutes after birth, due to a fatal lung disease. This oil was not for the sacrament — it was preserved out of devotion, a tangible sign of Paul Stefan’s brief life that inspired us to launch the Paul Stefan Foundation, which provides housing, material goods and critical support for pregnant women in need. That blessed oil bore Paul Stefan’s memory and God’s promise of resurrection.

After the sacramental Anointing of the Sick was completed, Father Stefan prayed over me while Jon — as a private devotion — brought out Paul Stefan’s chrism, gently anointing my forehead and making the sign of the cross. I remember none of it. At the instant the oil touched my skin, I reached up and grabbed Jon’s arm, declaring, “I love you — I love all of you.” For weeks, I’d remained unresponsive; now, touched by grace, I showed signs of awakening. Even the medical staff were stunned.

The very next morning, my grave situation started to turn. The doctors, who the night before told Evelyn not to expect any change, called her early — this time with wonder. I was sitting up in bed, alert and watching television. Days before, I was pronounced all but gone.

The Church teaches that through a priest’s hands and blessed oil, Christ comes near to comfort, forgive and — sometimes — heal. Father Stefan trusted in grace and left the rest to God. Miracles are never guaranteed, but faith opens the door for grace beyond our comprehension.

The oil from Paul Stefan’s baptism added an unforgettable layer to my healing. Though his time was heartbreakingly short, his memory became a vessel for intercession — a living reminder of the Communion of Saints and the hope given in every baptism.

The greatest testament of all is the present. As of this month, I have received a clean bill of health. I am no longer tethered to oxygen — my lungs, once 80% scarred, now allow me to walk and live freely. Most extraordinary, my kidney tests show 100% function, and I am free from dialysis. Not only have I been healed, but I have also been completely healed. Such full restoration is exceedingly rare. I am living proof that the sacrament — along with the tender act of my son Jon, joined to the loving intercession of Paul Stefan — brought Christ powerfully into my suffering and eventual healing.