Cynthia Daulton walked down the hallway and stepped into her daughter Catherine's room.
   There were her dolls, stuffed animals, her favorite dolphin poster and photos of family and friends everywhere she turned.
   But it wasn't her room at home. It was Room 319 inside a Flagstaff, Arizona, hospital, where the 17-year-old lay still and silent beneath a handmade poster. Cynthia's tear-filled eyes focused on the words a friend had printed onto the poster board. Expect a miracle, it said.
   We are, Cynthia wept. Please, God, she prayed, bring Catherine back to us...
   Cynthia and her husband Joe always called Catherine their "spunky monkey" Maybe it was being the youngest that made her so eager to stand out from the crowd. She even refused music lessons. "I want to be different," she announced, choosing instead to learn how to fix cars.
   And she had a gift for making people laugh. "Who am I?" she'd quiz her siblings as she pranced around the living room doing impressions.
   "You're Erkel!" "You're Whitney Houston!" "You're Mom!!!"
   What? Cynthia would walk out of the kitchen to find her daughter marching around in curlers. "I never do that," she'd say before breaking into laughter herself.
   The Daulton home was always full of laughter and full of family and friends--good, longtime friends from church. So Cynthia didn't think twice when Catherine asked if she and her best friend Amber could attend a weekend church retreat in Tucson. Uncle Jim, who was their pastor would be there with his wife Mary. Even Catherine's older sister Neta Bess would attend. They'll be safe, Cynthia thought, sending her daughter on the four-and-a-half hour trip.
   Later when the phone rang, Cynthia expected to hear Catherine's voice on the other end, telling them they'd arrived safely. Instead...
   It was Aunt Mary. "Amber's car was hit by a drunk driver," she said solemnly. Amber was still conscious. Catherine... was not.
   No! A groan came from deep with-in Cynthia as she called for Joe.
   Filled with fear, the couple made the long drive to the hospital. Cynthia's knees nearly gave way as she walked into Catherine's room and found her daughter swathed in white sheets, lying in a nest of tubes.

Photo: Jason R. Wise

   Not a mark. Not a bruise. She looks like Sleeping Beauty; Cynthia gasped. "Wake up, honey Come on.."
   "She sustained terrible trauma to her brain," a doctor said softly. "Even if she does wakeup..."
   If? Cynthia's eyes blazed into his.
   "She may never walk or talk or even know what's going on around her," he continued. Then he gently asked the Daultons to consider…
   Organ donation. The words hit Cynthia like bricks. "No!" she cried. "She's going to need all her organs!"
   Then, standing beside her daughter Cynthia took Catherine's hand. "Remember how your brother Steve used to tickle you?" she whispered. "You never cried 'stop.' You tried to be stronger than he was. Be that little girl who wouldn't give up."
   Then, she felt hands on her back¾-and turned to see Jim and Mary. "We're here with you... with her," Jim said. "Let's pray."
   Cynthia bowed her head. Please, God, she prayed. Let her grow to be a woman, to know love and joy.
   As the night wore on to the next day, more friends and family filtered into the hallway. "We'll pray with you," everyone said. But when Aunt Debbie and Cousin Connie arrived, both nurses with critical care experience, they made another suggestion.
   Talk to her Debbie insisted. "With God's help, we can wake her up."
   Cynthia checked with the doctor.
   "Her coma is deep," he said, shaking his head. "Still, it can't hurt."
   "Someone should be with her 'round the clock," Aunt Debbie said. "I'll start a sign-up sheet."
   And as more people arrived from home, the sheet filled up. "We've been so blessed with good family and friends," Cynthia wept.
   But a week later when Catherine was moved to a hospital in Flagstaff, the outpouring of support exploded. It seemed that everyone they knew wanted to help, and the new sign-up sheet quickly filled up.
   "We feel like family" they soothed Cynthia. "And we can wake her up!"
   This is unbelievable, Cynthia marveled as up to 50 people--cousins, neighbors, friends--came each week to read to Catherine or watch videos. By the end of the month, even Amber was well enough to visit too. And at night, Neta Bess and Joy; Catherine's other sister crawled into bed with her so she wouldn't feel alone.
   And everyone who came prayed. Expect a miracle, a friend had hung on the wall. Each night, Joe read psalms, and a phone line at the family's church relayed Sunday services to Catherine's room. On the other end, Cynthia held the phone to her daughter's ear.
   And one Sunday; when her Aunt Mary sang a hymn "for Catherine," the music wafted over the telephone-- and Catherine's eyes suddenly opened.
   Dear God! Cynthia wept.
   Doctors didn't know if it was anything more than an involuntary movement, but Cynthia's hopes soared as the days passed, as Catherine wrinkled her nose to smells, as she turned her face to the sun. And soon.…
   "She's awake!" a call came from the hospital one April morning.
   It's happened! Cynthia wept as she and Joe rushed across town and dashed into their daughter's room to see Catherine sitting up--and smiling.
   Thank You, God, Cynthia wept, taking her in her arms. Thank You for sending us our miracle. And thank You for sending us so many helpers to make it possible!
   Doctors warned that Catherine may have suffered brain damage, but no one would accept that-- not Cynthia, Joe or the friends and family who continued to visit Catherine and cheer her on as she struggled through speech and physical therapy.
   Finally, Catherine took her first steps with a walker. "Wanna race?" she joked.
   Tears filled Cynthia's eyes. She's back. She's really back.
   And four months after doctors asked the family to consider organ donation, Catherine hung her Expect a miracle sign on her own bedroom wall. She was home.
   Today, more than a year later, Catherine is finishing high school. And in addition to planning for college--with the hope of someday teaching--she wants to write her autobiography.
   "It'll be about friends and faith. But most of all," she says, squeezing Cynthia's hand, "it'll be about a family who never lost hope."       --Barbara Mackey