A few of my favorite things

Several steps from where I now sit there is an empty space. A space not unlike the ones in my heart. When you step into that space every step seems to echo the emptiness. There remains very little of the life that once filled the space. The last few days that emptiness has reared its ugly head. Sometimes in the midst of one heartache we can forget another pain. This week, for whatever reason, that other pain has worked its way like a bubble from the deep and danced its way to the surface. Amongst the waves it was almost unnoticeable. But to me it was the pea hidden under the mattress. It gnawed at me and made me uncomfortable. 

At the beginning of the week I made a decision to spend a little time in my daughter's room. I felt drawn to the clothes in her closet. I stood there and ran my hands through the clothes and the memories they held. Then I shook the memories free from their cloth prisons and began to pull items of clothing from first the hangers and then her chest of drawers. After piling them on the bed I began to sort them so that I could give them to her cousins who were now old enough and big enough to wear some of them. It was time for those clothes to associate with new memories. The memories no longer belong in a size 14slim pair of heavily bedazzled jeans. They will now reside solely in my heart. 

Some of the clothing remains. Some that I knew would never hold the same significance to anyone else. A shirt from a family reunion. A T-shirt that has pictures of the soccer team she once entertained. T-shirts that once belonged to me that she stole to sleep in. And, finally, the one article of clothing I don't know I will ever be able to part with. A denim jacket. 

Some memories we place above others in our lives. I would love to think that my daughter thought I was the coolest dad ever. But my street cred was increased the day I came home with my motorcycle and took her for a ride. It was daddy daughter time. We would zip around the corners and zoom down the highway with her hanging on tight to me. The quicker I went (which was never too fast) the tighter she squeezed. So I went quick a lot. And, in her mind the denim jacket added to the cool points whenever she had it on during our rides. She would beg me to take her to youth group on the motorcycle so she could be seen climbing off the back by all the other kids. Cool points. They are so important in the early teenage years. But, to me, she maxed out cool points years before. 

Closer to where I now sit there are other spaces. Spaces that one day I'll go through. Those that belonged to my wife. Although I have given a number of her things away, they were things that, for the most part, either carried little weight with me or less weight with me than with the person I shared them with. When I tackle that task I will not be alone. I will humble myself and allow important people in her life to help in spite of the fact that I would rather keep that ugly, wrinkled up, snot bubble blowing face of mine unseen by the general public. I do have a reputation to maintain after all. But while my daughter was mine from the beginning, my wife was a daughter and a sister before she changed her last name. Her family must be allowed to be involved if they so wish. 

Memories. They are the one thing that I have that will remain of my family. They are not attached to any one item they owned. And, while I will give much of the "things" away, I will store those memories for the rest of my life.

That has to be worth a few cool points. Right?

A final thank you

Gentle reminders surround me on a daily basis. Reminders of a better life. Reminders of what I once had. Throughout my house are things that prove that you can't take it with you. Things that first my daughter, and then my wife, left behind. Wood, hay, and stubble. Things that seem so important to us at one time that don't really matter in the long run. 

My family did more than leave behind clothing, furniture, toys, and vehicles. They left behind something more precious. They left behind life. In April of this year I was honored to go and speak to a gathering of mostly medical professionals. These are people that live with life, and death, on a daily basis. People that do a sometimes thankless job. Especially when that job results in a less than desired result. 

My speech that day was designed to let the doctors, nurses, lab techs, and anyone else involved in patient care know that they are appreciated in spite of the tragedies they have to face on a daily basis. I could never be a hospice nurse, an oncologist, or an ICU nurse. I would want 100% of my patients to survive. And I'm sure those professionals want the same thing. Unfortunately that will never occur. No matter how hard they struggle. And, so often that is a thankless struggle. 

My wife and daughter were organ donors. I remember vividly when my wife and I were approached in the emergency room by the ER physician who let us know that, while our daughter had no chance at life, someone else could. I remember getting the letter weeks later letting us know that she had saved or improved the lives of at least 5 people. I checked on these people through the Mississippi Organ Recovery Agency. Although I never knew their identities, I did find out a little bit about them. Some have survived. Some have not. But someone out there is alive because of my little girl. I think that makes her a hero. 

This week I got my first letter from a recipient. I never heard from any of my daughter's recipients but I had finally heard from someone who was able to live an improved life thanks to my wife. This grandmother can now go watch her grandchildren play ball. She can go on vacations without worrying about going through dialysis instead of enjoying family time. And she thought to say thanks. 

I have a bulletin board at my office with an interesting collection on it. I collect thank you notes. They are so rare these days that I thought it would be nice to look at and occasionally be reminded that someone appreciated something I had done for them. But never have I received as important a thank you letter than the one this woman wrote to the donor family. 

No greater love exists than a man lay down his life for a friend? I'm not so sure. I think the greater love exists when a man, or, in my case, two women, lay down their lives for someone they never even met. 

This thank you letter will one day be placed in the center of my bulletin board. It will be read daily as a reminder to me that my wife still lives on. That a very real part of her walks this earth today. That a part of her is responsible for hugs, kisses, tickles, giggles, and laughter that this earth would have otherwise been missing. 

If you haven't considered it before I beg you to please consider donating the gift of life. Don't wait for your family members to have to make the decision for you. Go to http://donatelife.net/register-now/ and register to be a donor. The peace that your family will be left with knowing that you still live on will be worth it. I promise.