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It was all set. My mother was coming to watch Sarah and Lisa and we were going to take a trip. It was the fall of 1976 and we were exhausted. Newbie’s to the chronically sick-child life, we had yet to get our sea legs and we had only been fighting Sarah’s sickness since Christmas before.

A few days before we were to leave, Sarah’s condition had taken a massive turn. Described as aseptic necrosis, it had me reaching for the phone to cancel the trip. Our doctors intervened. While it was serious, it also had to run its course, our being there would make no difference, you needed the break, etc, etc, etc.

So, against my and Bonnie’s better judgment, waving goodbye to Mom and the girls, we set out for our first trip to Mexico.

The moment we arrived, I knew the doctors were right. Staying in the now earthquake-destroyed Hotel del Prado, with its massive mural by Diego Rivera, we journeyed about: the pyramids of Teotihuacan; the National Museum of Anthropology; old churches; the Zocalo; the Palacio del Bellas Artes; Chapultepec Park, passing close to where, years later, we would have an apartment; wonderful food, the nightlife of the Zona Rosa. Yes, the doctors were right.

Still, the worry about Sarah persisted. It was hard to put aside thoughts of the girls, so far away. But soldiering on, consulting our well-used list, we headed to the Basilica of Guadeloupe.

One of the great sites of Mexico City, two grand basilicas mark the spot where Juan Diego spoke with the Virgin and famously brought the cloak of roses, the tilma, to the disbelieving hierarchy. It must be noted this site is not just another church; it is the central place of worship in Mexico.

Old and new basilicas exist side by side. The old basilica, built in the 16th century sinks in the mud of Tenochtitlan; the new rises in modern glory. Everywhere there are crowds, many in colorful native dress from the farthest reaches of the Republica Mexicana.

Pilgrims with faith far deeper than mine walk on their knees for long distances as they approach the site. One can only look and admire people of such faith.

In the new basilica, Mass goes on continuously at one of the many altars. As we entered the church, we quietly bypassed the Mass and walked around to the back of the huge church. Our goal was to see the tilma, enclosed in its silver and gold frame. As we rounded the corner, we could see it, high on the wall, visible to all in the church, but only a few feet from us.

The architects of the church understood reverent crowd movement and installed a moving sidewalk in front of the tilma. Apparently, it was all too common to have crowds persist in their viewing of the tilma. This device kept things moving.

Stepping in the slow-moving sidewalk, we gazed up. Ever the photographer, I raised my camera, focused on the tilma, was ready to press the shutter when a voice filled my head. It was a gentle woman’s voice, alto, I guess, American accent. It was there and she said, “Sarah will be OK”.

Startled, I pulled the camera down. I looked around, looking for the source of this voice. I turned to Bonnie, “Did you hear that? Bonnie replied “What?” As we stepped off the moving sidewalk, I told her a woman’s voice had said, “Sarah will be OK”. Bonnie looked at me, smiled and we looked back at the tilma.

The crowds pressed and we retreated to the other side of the church.

From that time on, at times of immense stress, Sarah fighting for life, I have remembered the voice, and surely, “Sarah has been OK”.