This week seems a little more “normal” than they have been for a while. I just got done going through 170 friend requests on Facebook. This is becoming the typical number of them in a day. It’s a bit time-consuming as we do attempt to be as careful as possible with the page. As someone who typically avoided social media, this is definitely becoming a crash course in its use and management. I did get a chuckle at the “reach” this platform has as I had a message from someone in South Africa at the same time we had friend request from a pastor in Pakistan, someone in Dubai, and a Detroit Lions fan. Typically, I don’t even pay attention to where people are from. With friends around the world, messages also come in regularly, especially if we were to leave Facebook open on our computer. The later into the night that it is, that we are online, the farther away the locations change in our messenger box. We are humbled to be part of such a diverse, global group of people.
This week we had the opportunity to write a letter to those whose lives Hannah saved. There is no way around the fact that it is a bit awkward and uncomfortable. It brings everything back up again, especially the final moments when we said our last goodbyes and it all ended. The grief and the joy are so closely connected. Perhaps joy is not even the right word. I am not sure even if there is a word for this. There is happiness, there is some sense of satisfaction. There is a healthy form of “pride” that we feel for having been able to do something this important for other people. It’s nice to hold a door for someone, but to actually be part of saving a life, that’s pretty special! (I am reminded, however, that there are many people in various occupations and places of service where the opportunity to save lives comes more frequently.) For us it is extremely humbling to be part of something so tragic, yet wonderful. Again, the dichotomy between the sacrifice we had to endure and the opportunity that others have, because of our sacrifice, is indescribable. Maybe it’s the pain of loss gilded with the optimism of new life. I’ll stop trying.
These initial letters are vague. They are sent through Versiti. Someone there reads and approves them before they are mailed on to the recipient. Hannah’s recipients also have the opportunity to write us as well, going through the same process and procedures that Versiti has in place for us. The idea is that we each get to know each other better, little by little, without divulging too much information that could make things awkward if they or we would decide, for some reason, that we would rather not pursue any kind of relationship. It’s such a big event in a life for everyone involved that, honestly, I don’t know if any of us know what we truly want. Like our process for coming to terms with our loss and grieving, these letters are little steps, deeper and deeper, into the “pool” of what the reality of organ donation is and what it truly means. We take little steps and keep moving forward.
In this letter, we were able to share a little about who Hannah was. We told of her love of God, her hard work ethic, her love of education, and her love for others. We told of her jobs, her homeschooling, her late nights and early morning doing homework, her college, her bus kids, and her crocheting. It was hard to try to put into vague words “who” she was. As is often said, they really just needed to know her. Closing out this post, I’ll share the ending of our letter. It says, “She did not waste a moment of her time and was always looking for opportunities to do more to help others. She would be honored to know that she was able to help others even in her passing. God had a purpose in allowing Hannah to be an organ donor and we are honored to be part of your recovery. God makes no mistakes.” This is the truth of it all.
We are blessed.
Hannah Helps 