Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

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Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Organ Donation


Journal Entry 2

The next evening family and friends return to the hospital from our homes around the Bay Area to say a final goodbye to Evelyn. Shortly after 9 p.m. the organ surgery is over. Ev is the only patient in the recovery room. One by one, family and close friends go over, say their words, and leave. It’s my turn.
I sit next to Evelyn and share the words I need to speak, in case she can hear. I tell her how angry I am with myself that I didn’t realize her lightheadedness the night before she died might have been a symptom of something serious and do something that would have saved her. I mention the times that I think I disappointed her over the years, and how she was kind not to tell me about them all. 

I share what I think are the highlights of our life together, as well as our ongoing struggles that will now forever remain unfixed, hoping that something I say will reach through her fog of confusion and bring her back, knowing that she won’t. 

Outside we share a prayer with our pastor, and say goodnight, each of us having lost a different loved one—wife, daughter, sister, friend. 


I drive home through the night from Pleasanton, over the coastal hills and down into the Bay Area’s sparkling lights that surround the cold, unsettled water of San Francisco Bay. A great darkness opens up before me.

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