I was standing in a family restaurant with my husband when the call came.
It was 9:15 pm, the Wednesday evening before Christmas. Although I had waited
6 years for this call, nothing could have prepared me for the emotions I felt
at that moment. The voice on the other line was Kelly, a transplant coordinator
at Scripps Green Memorial Hospital. He said, “Donna, we have a liver for you.”
My heart slammed into my throat as Kelly continued. “This liver is from a 5½-year-old
little girl and it is on a plane heading for Palomar Airport. You have 5 minutes to decide.”
Now suddenly all I could do was cry. You see, I have a 6-year-old granddaughter of my own.
The thought of losing her brought gut-wrenching emotions I never dreamed would be a part of this moment.
Our only other stop that night was the big toy store to purchase her Christmas gift. This phone call brought
the life-saving message I had waited for for so long, yet all I felt was grief. Tears coursed down my cheeks
as I choked out my reply. “We’ll be right there. We’re leaving now.”
There were so many
things to be grateful for, yet so many of those first hours after my transplant were spent grieving for
the sweet little girl whose liver now nestles under
my ribs. |
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The next few hours were a hectic flurry of activity. Frantic phone calls to family and friends,
myriad pre-op procedures, final Christmas directions, and my meager attempt to offer sage advice
like Father Abraham to his children consumed every second of the 3 hours before I was wheeled into
the basement surgical suite.
Three surgeries later (two for repairs due to complications), I found myself in an ICU hospital bed
contemplating the events of the previous week. I was extremely grateful that I would see my grandbabies
take their first steps, catch fireflies with them in the evening twilight, stick wiggling worms on their
fishing hooks. I did not want to miss standing with my daughters in the bride’s room on their
wedding days, fluffing their veils. There were so many things to be grateful for, yet so many of those
first hours after my transplant were spent grieving for the sweet little girl whose liver now nestles
under my ribs. Not a day went by that I did not cry for her mourning family. Her mother can no longer
watch her wade in a moss-slicked stream, or help her find seashells along the shore. Her mother will
never watch her fall in love for the first time, or help her heal a broken heart. Her mother will never
fluff her wedding veil.
My gratitude for her family’s generosity, their belief in miracles despite their own tragedy and
their unselfishness towards total strangers engulfed my soul. Still, there were questions I could not resolve.
Why had I been given a continuance of life? What does a 50-year-old woman, who has accomplished so many things
and made all her dreams come true, have left to do on this earth that a 5-year-old angel could not have done?
Is there really a plan to this life? Is there a mission we are here to accomplish? Do angels guide our paths?
Or is it all just a crapshoot—does a roll of the dice, the luck of the draw decide our destiny?
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My gratitude for her family’s generosity, their belief in miracles despite their own tragedy
and their unselfishness towards total strangers engulfed my soul. Still, there were questions I could
not resolve. |
What made my distress even more intense is that I knew the answers from a spiritual perspective—and yet the questions haunted me still.
I can only pray and listen for the answers as to why, and what I must do now. Will it be of any consequence?
Will it matter to anyone? Can I make a difference in the world? I strive each day to regain enough strength
for whatever challenges may be ahead. As I lie in bed each night with tears in my eyes, a calming peace is
in my heart knowing that this little girl has been added to my legion of guardian angels. She hugs my heart and holds my hand. I wish I knew her name.
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