The Stars Circle in Slow Motion
May 25th, 2003 fell on a Sunday, just like today. It was a clear, sunny day, just like today. It was the day before Memorial Day, just like today. My mind tries to find significance in coincidence. It’s a human failing, I guess.
I wonder where my donor’s mother is today. It’s five years after two of her children’s lives were ended. It’s five years since another child was injured badly enough to require multiple surgeries in the years after. It’s five years since her home and all her belongings were destroyed in a blaze. It’s five years since she let strangers intrude on her grief and ask a favor on my behalf. It’s been five years since she gave permission to have her 13 year old son’s liver given to a woman she’d never meet. I don’t believe in God, but I pray she’s found peace somehow.
Today I feel small. Today I feel vulnerable. Today there’s nobody here who understands. They’ve gotten past it, gotten over it, gotten back onto the paths of their lives. They don’t need to play the “five years ago today” game. After all, it’s just a coincidence that today the earth finds itself in the same relative position to the stars for the fifth time since I earned the white upside-down “Y” that cuts below my ribs from side to side and up to my breastbone. But my mind insists on finding significance in coincidence. It’s a human failing that leads to no solace.
Today is our dog’s sixth birthday. (The shelter could only estimate how old he was so we picked this date because it seemed easy to remember.)
On Memorial Day weekend three years ago, I flew to D.C. to be with my father during his last days.
It’s a day of life and death and survival, I guess. It’s a time for remembering and valuing what we have and what we’ve lost. I’m so glad we have you.
Everything happens for a reason. I think it is fitting that it was memorial weekend. Bless you for always remembering the loss of so many so you could be here still. I imagine the guilt combined with the gratefulness can be very overwhelming. A bitter sweet thing, transplants are. Peace be with you
**hugs**
I wish you would believe in God after all the miracles he’s performed in your life.
Anyway, I hope you’re going okay?
how else to measure how far we’ve come but to look back…and you’ve come so far, and still you plow through what the now keeps presenting you with. and i think i can safely say that your donor’s mom hasn’t gotten over "it"… i don’t think anyone gets over things like this…they just make a slight adjustment to get themselves through…
ps:
i’m glad you remember and write about how and whom you received your liver from. it’s a beautiful homage to the life taken too soon. be it on the net or not…it floats up to those stars circling in slow motion