JaxBeachHippie

Christy  Walker

As I walked out of the hospital that morning, I knew I would never see him again. I lay there with him for six days, begging, praying, hoping he would wake up, but he never did. This was Saturday morning at nine thirty a.m. This was the day I said goodbye to the love of my life. He was the peace in my soul. He was the joy of my heart, my home.

I would not be taking his heart with me. We had given it to someone else so they could live. I am an organ donor myself. When you check the box, you do not even consider the complexities involved. It takes a lot to make organ donation happen. You sign the form and feel like you have done something special, and never give it another thought. 

Lance went into the hospital on Sunday afternoon, around six thirty, Memorial Day weekend. We were having a great long weekend. We enjoyed time on the boat. Neither of us ever considered it was our last moments together. 

It is still strange to think back on how he took the time to call my daughter for her birthday. It was a few days earlier. They spoke on the phone for hours. He was mentoring her. He gave her advice and shared his time as usual. They said something that is such a special memory for her. 

I was at home when he called me just before that fateful time. I was showering, fixing my hair, and getting us a change of clothes. Then I went down to the boat. He called, Baby, “What are you doing? Giggling. What is taking you so long?” Come on! He literally would be the one we were always waiting on to get dressed or head out the door. He was leaving for a trip. He spent hours putting together “Christy’s playlist #201.” I laughed at him and told him to call an Uber. I said I would be there in a few. 

Before I got to the boat to hang out with our friends and see my love once more; I was heading to the hospital instead. Lance had been in an accident, and I felt punched in the gut. I felt him with me, but not there. I felt his sadness not for himself but for me. I heard his voice comforting me as I walked into the room, not knowing what to expect. He lay there on a ventilator just like he was sleeping.

He didn’t look hurt, broken, or scuffed. He seemed perfectly fine except for the breathing tube that was keeping his body alive. 

I couldn’t comprehend what had happened and why he wouldn’t wake up. I found out something happened just before I was to arrive at the boat. The boat was docked at the marina.  Some guy we used to know, Mason, apparently recognized Lance and stopped by with a few people we didn’t know. I will never know exactly what happened. When the police were called, they found the strangers taking things off the boat. Lance was unconscious. 

Mason had been an acquaintance at best. Living at the beach where we lived, you get acquainted with everyone, or at least become familiar. Mason had a drug problem on and off, and apparently was just released from rehab. I assume the guys he was with had an addiction too. They were out with more sinister plans that evening instead of enjoying the Memorial holiday. Two of the three were arrested, and Mason has never been caught or seen since the incident. 

I often wonder if I had not been so lackadaisical with time. If I had gotten there earlier, would it have kept this nightmare from happening? I spoke with my parents about my guilt and “what if.” They told me that if I had been there, maybe I wouldn’t be here. This has weighed on me as the days wore on. I lay there in the hospital day after day. I prayed for him to wake up. Begging him in the silence, whispering to him to wake up, and how much I loved him. Telling him he couldn’t leave me here, our life, our home, our future. We had so much left undone. 

My parents, his parents, and our friends tried to get me to go home. They suggested I take a break, eat, and get some sleep. But I refused to leave him. By Tuesday, the Neurologist told us he was brain dead. His sister and I begged for them to move him to a different hospital. Shand’s Hospital was the best. Many of my friends were Doctors, including my best friend, who said, “Get him to Shand’s hospital,” but they refused. They already knew the inevitable. Wednesday, they offered to do one last test. They wanted to appease me and his sisters’ disbelief. This test was meant to prove to us that he was gone. Watching them turn down the ventilator broke me. I had to acknowledge that it was the only thing keeping him breathing. 

Thursday was a total blur; the day had come to decide what of him could be harvested for donation.  The donor deserves no credit for this selfless act. Of course, the recipient is thankful to them. Still, the anguish the family endures is indeed their sacrifice and heartache to bear. The agony one endures with the Organ Donation Coordinator is grueling and painful. 

As I sat there with the Donor Coordinator, she asked all of you questions to determine what organs are viable. You literally feel a knife in the pit of your stomach. They ask the spouse. They also ask the parents. They compare the answers to make sure they are not giving away damaged goods. After his parents left, the organ coordinator and I got to speaking more. Then the nurse came into the room, and literally took a hundred vials of blood. Organ Donation is the most selfless gift; to donate your organs and give a stranger an opportunity to live.  For the family it is the most painful thing to have to witness. 

Obviously, when a DOA comes in; the family doesn’t have to endure this. For another two days, we sat there as they organized the donations. Where his kidneys went, his lungs, his liver, pancreas, and his heart. They scheduled the surgery for Saturday morning at nine thirty. Seven people were able to live their lives. This was because he gave his. Walking out of the hospital that morning was the most painful thing I have yet to endure.d

It has been eight years since that day on June 3^rd, and I have not gotten over it. I allowed my grief to consume me. I have learned some things, and I share them in my grief group. It is imperative to move forward with your life. You must go through the five stages of grief. Try to find happiness. It is a process that you have to follow through and complete. I did not do that, and it has changed me. I know I will not ever love again, and I know I will never find companionship. Where there was once love and kindness, tolerance and acceptance, now I am empty. I am emotionless and unwilling to get close to anyone. He was the love of my life, and I let my grief go on too long. I allowed it to take my joy, my happiness, and my interest in everything we did together. So, now I live an unfinished life. My life ended with him that day. I let his death kill me and leave me hollow and empty. 

He truly was my one true love, and I miss him every day. Lance was thirty-six when he left this world. Yet, we still had a lifetime of plans. We had adventures to live out. There were stories to make, places to go, and people to meet. 

To the seven people that live on through Lance. He carries his heart. He breathes through his lungs. I hope you live big! I hope his heart gave you the capacity to love as he did. I hope those who received his lungs can laugh as he did. I hope they sing at the top of their lungs. I also hope they care as patiently as he did. Giving your heart away when you no longer need it is truly a gift. Living with a broken heart is indescribable grief. 

Organ donation is a gift from the donor, but a sacrificial gift from their families, who live on. The only wish they could hear their heartbeat once more. The sound of their laugh, voice, and song are cherished. These gifts are meant to be cherished and protected. 

Lastly, remember your loved one would want you to be happy, so be careful with your grief. Don’t let it consume you. Just like with your body healing from an injury, you need physical therapy. There is also a time planned to remove the bandages and casts.  Set goals, finish mutual plans, and don’t martyr yourself. The Walking Dead serves no purpose.