I’ve looked at life from both sides now
He’s so yellow, the sick color of a late-August dandelion long past giving up, a hue unmatched by any Crayola crayon. He’s yellow and he shakes and he does not see me, he barely knows me, he can’t be reached. He is my uncle, not the creepy type but quite literally the opposite, the reason I’m alive. I flash to that moment just two or three years before, when I myself wanted to die and he saw me and he stole me away to that private room and exposed his insides to me, the ones we didn’t yet know were killing him, the ones that screamed It’s okay and I’ve been there and I know you and Everything will be alright. He was the first one I believed in those faithless days, the first one I let carry me when the weight of my depression buckled my young knees. I’m thinking about that moment now as I stand awkwardly beside him in his ICU bed, shift my weight hither and to from leg to wobbly uncertain leg, a deer both born anew and struck dumb in the Universe’s headlights. It is 1993.
***
I don’t know who died so that my uncle Bill could live. I just know that he waited, waited for so many excruciatingly long, agonizingly bile-ridden years, for his second chance. I know that he crumbled and pasted himself back together and crumbled again, because it’s a hard thing, being so sick, but also wishing for some poor unknown sap to die. That’s the unspeakable, the thing nobody dares say, the thing we compartmentalize because it’s about survival, it’s about loving your own family best, it’s about looking away from someone else’s tragedy so that you can shed your numb skin and live again, through the grace of others, through the there but for the grace of God‘s, through dumb luck and horrific chance and don’t look that goddamn gift horse in the mouth, just move on.
***
My 12th wedding anniversary is this Sunday and so I know, I know it’s been around twelve years since. Since that moment on my wedding day that he turned off his pager, he actually turned it off, the pager the hospital had given him in case the emergency liver became available. After all those years of waiting, of suffering, he wanted to sing me that sweet song without interruption and so he silenced his hope, his future, and gave me yet another gift. Not long after my wedding day, maybe a few months, he got his liver — and so twelve years ago someone’s Reason, someone’s Be, someone’s Everything screeched and screamed and ceased in a flurry of red and blue lights and keening and hearts smashed to smithereens. And in a parallel universe my grateful family lurched from triage and stitched its collective heart whole again. My family, on its own glittering maternity ward, burst forth from a benevolent spirit’s womb.
***
A phone call, tonight, July 28, 2009, 6:42pm. It’s a man I know from church. He is asking me to come to an event this Friday night. He’s not begging, he’s not playing any hidden aces, he’s not blatantly reminding me why. He just tells me it would mean a lot to him.
And I know, see, that the man from church’s wife was on the other end of this strange and exquisite kaleidoscope — not literally, just colorfully. Figuratively. She was not in the category of my uncle, but rather in the category of the bereft and cut short. She wasn’t an organ recipient, but rather one whose life became a sacrifice, one whose family, in the face of unimaginable loss, dug deep and presented its guts steaming on a silver holiday platter for the ones like him. For you. For me. She died two and a half years ago (and four days before Christmas) and he’s not reminding me of that tonight, he’s just asking, humbly, Will you come to this event on Friday? Will you come and listen to the songs sung low and the tales plucked special for those who don’t know, those who don’t yet get it? I admit he doesn’t say it in as many words; these words here are mine. Tonight he simply says, “It’s to tell about organ donation” and my heart immediately recognizes his heart’s language and so I cut him off, I say Yes. Yes, I will be there.
I will bear witness. I will spread this word. For him, for my uncle, for me. For you.
***
Domestic Extraordinaire says:
What a beautiful post. I am reminded of my Mother in law, she waited and waited and in the end the gift of life was given to her, but her body was too weak to take it.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:52 am
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Domestic Extraordinaire Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:01 am
thank you.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:07 pm
Braja says:
You write, Maggie…
x
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:52 am
That means a lot coming from you, m’dear. xo
July 28th, 2009 at 6:21 pm
Crystal D says:
Oh goodness Maggie this just brought me to tears. You are such a beautiful writer and his story is so touching. I am sure it will give him strength to have you there.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:53 am
I’m worried I wrote this in a confusing way – the man from church and my uncle are not one in the same. But yes, I want both of them to know they are supported.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:30 pm
muskrat says:
What do you do when you’re not making the world a better place?
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:54 am
HA.
Don’t worry, I mess it up plenty, too.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:31 pm
Wisconsin Mommy says:
Beautifully written. My aunt is waiting for a heart to become available and has commented how difficult it is because wishing for a heart means wishing someone else would die.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:54 am
I hope everything works out for your aunt.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:37 pm
cindy w says:
Ok, so. This totally made me cry. Awesome post.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:55 am
Thank you hon.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:41 pm
Christy says:
God…Maggie. I am literally rendered speechless by this…no words; just awe.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:55 am
Thank you.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:45 pm
Nicole says:
What an incredibly beautiful post.
My darling faux brother ,after years of waiting, was given a kidney. He got it the day after his 21st birthday. After years of dialysis, it was a shiny bright light. He was so healthy (after 14 years of illness) and so adorable. He looked like a young Andrew McCarthy.
But it lasted for just six months. The next six months were a seesaw. And then, a week to the day of his 22nd birthday, he was gone.
I only wish it would have been today — and not more than 20 years ago. He would have made it. I know he would have.
God bless you for doing what you can to support organ donation. I wouldn’t trade those six months for anything.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:56 am
Ohhhh wow. Thank you for this. I’m so sorry for your loss, and grateful too that you had those extra months.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:48 pm
flutter says:
One of the many sorrows in my life is now that I am sick, I can’t donate my organs or blood. Heartbreaking
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:56 am
See, you just do it as a live donor. You donate your heart all the time, dude. Swear.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:52 pm
Scary Mommy says:
As if I wasn’t humbled enough to have met you… You truly have a way with the words, my friend.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:57 am
And, sorry to break it to the world, but there is not a single thing scary about you.
July 28th, 2009 at 6:55 pm
Ann says:
Sigh.
Gorgeous. True.
I love the way you juxtapose the gritty and the luminous.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:58 am
I think they always go hand in hand.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:01 pm
Mojo,NC,USA says:
I wish I could bottle the feeling I get when I read your work Maggie. If I could do that, If I could distill it and bottle it and distribute it to the four corners of the globe, I could bring about world peace. Because there’s no way anyone could feel this feeling and still want to fight a war. Or even a street fight.
You are gifted my friend. Truly.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 6:58 am
I never know what to say to your own words, my friend.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:03 pm
Chris says:
Once again, I stand in awe of your talent, your strength and your capacity to love. You shame and inspire me in the same instant.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:02 am
No shame, no shame, no shame.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:14 pm
Jenna says:
I just signed up.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:02 am
Oh, WOW. Thank you.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:22 pm
MK says:
My brother died when he was 17. Much too young. But he wasn’t sick, so Today-2 people are walking this earth with his eyes. Another, his heart. Another, his liver. His death, tragic and sudden, was a gift to many. And he wanted it. He let us all know-at his tender too young age-that he was a donor. And so, too, am I.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:03 am
I am so sorry for your loss, and so grateful for your gift.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:37 pm
Carolynn @ Willow Tree says:
You are so blessed Maggie, so dang talented, I can’t put a word on it. But my spirit sings when I read your posts like these. You most certainly do bear witness.
I’ve had an orange donor sticker on my license for years and just this week, I made sure my family knew. What is the slogan? You can’t take them with you and Heaven knows we need them here. Yeah, we sure do.
Blessings,
Carolynn
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:04 am
I’m glad you let your family know, I think a lot of times we just assume they understand and agree with our wishes. I’m thinking about a big gigantic sticker plastered to my car.
July 28th, 2009 at 7:58 pm
Rock and Roll Mama says:
Chills and blurry eyes. So matter of fact, but so profound. I like to think that in the moment of loss, I’d remember to think of others. My driver’s license says it, but the family members that have to make the call amaze me with their grace. You gorgeous girl.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:05 am
I agree, ultimately the fact that these family members can think outside themselves in their most wretched hours makes me believe in higher things.
July 28th, 2009 at 8:04 pm
Rachel says:
*Sigh*
When I grow up, can I learn to write as lovely as you do?
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:05 am
Silly. But thank you.
July 28th, 2009 at 8:04 pm
A Free Man says:
I love that song. Love Joni Mitchell more than any straight man should.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:06 am
Yeah, I hope she doesn’t mind me stealing from her. I assume with Joni Mitchell it’s like Kleenex or Tupperware by now, right? Like, people just know those are her words?
July 28th, 2009 at 9:14 pm
racheld says:
Too sharp and beautiful to speak to, except to say that my card’s in my wallet, and my license bears the hopeful small red heart. My family knows, and would never deprive me of the privilege.
Is that acceptable praise-for-your-words this time?
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:06 am
I’m glad your family knows.
July 28th, 2009 at 9:47 pm
Kay says:
Sorry, I’m busy being all teary-eyed and weepy right now, so you’re not going to get an eloquent comment. Instead, I’ll just say that you were blessed in the sense that your uncle’s life was saved by a stranger – and yet in an odd way, you’re also blessed by the knowledge that your family was able to pay it forward by donating your aunt’s organs.
It’s a difficult decision to make, but one that my family has made together, in advance. The local hospital hands out bumper stickers that say something along the lines of “You won’t need your organs in Heaven – but they’re desperately needed here. Please consider organ donation.”
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:08 am
This is my fault, I wrote it in too confusing a manner — the man from church and my uncle are not the same person. Just representatives of two different camps, opposite ends of the same experience, and so I will go out of my way for this man from my church because I consider his gift awe-inspiring and universal. Sorry to be so confusing.
July 28th, 2009 at 10:20 pm
Heather says:
I don’t know what to say. I am an organ donor for all of the obvious reasons. Obviously you and yours were very ethical and while it is hard, it is noble.
I still stand with Gandalf I do not what to make that choice for anyone else.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:06 am
Naw, I don’t make it for anyone either. I’m just grateful for those who’ve given.
July 28th, 2009 at 11:10 pm
mamatulip says:
My mother was a liver transplant recipient. It gave her four extra years.
Her birthday was December 22.
Thank you, Maggie.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:07 am
Thank you for all of the gorgeous writing you’ve done about your mother, those are my very favorite posts.
July 29th, 2009 at 5:06 am
Gwen says:
“the sick color of a late-August dandelion long past giving up” :
That right there is magic, baby, the reason I stand in awe of your writing so often.
And now to get all teachy and didactic, just to ruin the mood: the organ donor people say that the most important thing is getting your family on board with your wishes, because once you’re gone, they’re the ones who have to make that choice.
I’m glad your uncle finally got his second chance; and it’s just the way the universe works, isn’t it, in those strange and mysterious ways, that he then had to pay that gift forward.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:08 am
Totally agree – it’s crazy how many people are donors but their families don’t know it or philosophically disagree and assume everyone feels as they do. Whatever your choice, you need to share it.
July 29th, 2009 at 7:01 am
Gypsy says:
Thank you for this.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:09 am
July 29th, 2009 at 7:12 am
JD at I Do Things says:
Oh, my gosh. Tears in my eyes for your story and the way you tell it.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:10 am
Thank you love.
July 29th, 2009 at 7:22 am
MoxieMamaKC says:
What a beautiful story. It brought me to tears. God bless second chances and those who’ve sacrificed to give them…
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 8:10 am
Yes. Thank you.
July 29th, 2009 at 7:51 am
Jennifer says:
Thank you for showing me that brief glimpse into your heart, your past, your personal life. Thank you for writing with such beauty and clarity and tenderness and raw description. I have goosebumps and am misty-eyed. You have such a gift.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:07 am
*blush* Thank you.
July 29th, 2009 at 9:03 am
Dalon says:
wow … woah … amazing!!
how did you just paint that picture right in front of me with such vivid color and detail without using even one Crayola??!!???
thank you
thank you for the reminder of even more to be thankful for in my life and those that have walked this path
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:08 am
I’m glad. Sometimes I think my writing is pretty confusing.
July 29th, 2009 at 9:06 am
BiblioMom says:
4 years ago this coming Sunday my Mom died while waiting for a transplant. Today is the 4 year anniversary of the last day I saw her alive. I just finished writing about it for my blog and then I came here and read this. Life and death is funny. Not in the smack my knee sort of funny but in the, “DAMMIT” sort of way.
BiblioMom Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 10:04 am
Are funny… DAMMIT…. not is funny.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:09 am
WOW. I don’t know what to say. It’s so weird, I’ve never written about organ donation before, never mentioned any of this. Then I got that phone call last night and went straight to my computer. That is just crazy.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
July 29th, 2009 at 10:03 am
perksofbeingme says:
I am forever amazed by your writing and now that I’ve met you in person, I’m amazed by your kindness and love. (and your awesome hugs). I love you.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:09 am
It was so good to hug you.
July 29th, 2009 at 10:37 am
Jocelyn says:
You define “lyrical.” Brava.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:10 am
Thank you.
July 29th, 2009 at 10:43 am
kris says:
I have few words. What a great gift you have, M. Such a huge heart and the ability to put such lovely words to what it feels. Amazing.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:11 am
I’m so sad that you weren’t at BlogHer. I have never been bored reading one of your posts. Ever. Next year?
July 29th, 2009 at 10:47 am
Sprite's Keeper says:
Beautifully written. You are truly gifted and your uncle is truly blessed.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:12 am
Thank you. I’m worried I wrote this in a confusing way – the man at the end isn’t my uncle. Hopefully that made sense.
July 29th, 2009 at 1:55 pm
fancy feet says:
I’m crying. I can’t put my feelings about your words into my own words right now. I’m just sitting here surprised by my tears.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:13 am
Your words often do that to me, they’re just more uplifting whereas mine are more depressing.
fancy feet Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 3:40 pm
Ummm…depressing? Never. And I would argue that I can be a hell of a lot of depressing sometimes. One of my friends actually asked me (this was a while back) if I could lighten up. And I quote, “Your posts make me want to slit my wrists.” Slit his wrists?? That can’t be uplifting. I must not have written any suicide worthy posts lately because he hasn’t said anything since.
Anyway….
You’re a delight! And this post was all kinds of great.
July 29th, 2009 at 2:36 pm
Fran says:
When I renewed my license I signed the donor card without giving it much thought. Thank you for helping me to think about with a powerful new perspective.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:13 am
That means a lot, Fran. Thank you.
July 29th, 2009 at 6:30 pm
Liz says:
Every time I get my license renewed, I always answer no to the donor question with the feeling that I’m doing something terribly selfish and wrong. But the thing is, I can say yes until I’m blue in the face, and as long as my parents remain my next of kin I will never be an organ donor because my dad can’t stomach it. It’s visceral for him; he can’t stand the idea of one of use less than whole, like he’s protecting us from one last injury. And while I don’t agree, I feel like I have to accept it (because it’s not like I’d have any say at that point anyway), and by answering no, I save him the affront of having to over-ride my wishes. It’s all kind of mixed up and jumbled in a mess of filial respect but knowing that someday one of us might need that sacrifice from someone else. I wish I knew how to say that to him.
Liz Reply:
July 29th, 2009 at 7:13 pm
I do give blood, though. Seems like the least I can do.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:14 am
You’re not alone, there are a lot of people in your position. It’s hard to understand but I certainly respect it. We are all so different. All we can do is focus our gratitude on the ones who give and hope none of us ever need the gift.
July 29th, 2009 at 7:11 pm
Sarah says:
Beautiful.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:14 am
Thank you Sarah.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:04 am
arizaphale says:
I’ve held the card since 1985, in two countries; mind you, given my hedonistic lifestyle there may be nothing internally here that anyone would want!
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 10:15 am
I’m not sure mine are in high demand, either.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:53 am
jen says:
oh honey. i was missing you today (is that weird?) so i came over and found this and it made me cry.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 11:58 am
NOT weird. I miss you often. How does that happen?
July 30th, 2009 at 11:27 am
Issa says:
Since I was 18, it’s been a yes on my ID.
Because once, years ago, my family made the choice to try and save other people, in the moment of grief. None of us ever looked back.
Hugs to you and your Uncle. May he live a long, healthy, wonderful life.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 30th, 2009 at 11:58 am
Thank you and your family, babe. Thank you.
July 30th, 2009 at 11:35 am
Lil says:
Sometimes when a new post of yours pops up in my reader, I can’t read it right away because I’m not in the right frame of mind to give it the proper attention your writing deserves. Reading your entries is a fine gift that I savor. It’s like in American Beauty when the kid next door shows the video of the plastic bag whirling around in the breeze. He says there is so much beauty in the world and that sometimes he feels like his heart is going to burst, that he just can’t take it. Your writing is like that for me. Absolutely beautiful.
Also, now that the fangirl section of the comment is over
, I’ve been an organ donor since I got my license at 16 (many, many moons ago). I’m registered online and everything. My family knows they damn well better honor it or I will haunt them from the grave. 
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 31st, 2009 at 8:31 am
I feel exactly that way about a few of my favorite blogs, and so it gives me shivers to hear you say that about mine. Thank you.
and thank you for your gift.
July 30th, 2009 at 12:39 pm
kaydee says:
Thank you for writing such an exquisite post. A colleague of mine tragically lost her 48 year old sister this past winter of a brain aneurysm. I believe it has sustained her to know that others are getting an opportunity to live with the organs that she had donated. kaydee at http://www.answersformoms.org (also known as coquiverde at brickhousemama2.blogspot.com)
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 31st, 2009 at 8:33 am
I think that’s a good point – I think many times I’m baffled that a family is able to think of others in their very worst moment, but you’re right – I bet it helps just a tiny bit to know they are giving life to so many others.
July 30th, 2009 at 1:40 pm
anymommy says:
This is incredibly well written, which isn’t surprising since you wrote it. It’s also so moving, so touching, your heart is so big – I don’t know how you take of this deep and important stuff on, Maggie, my heart would break (although, that’s no excuse for remaining aloof, I know).
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 31st, 2009 at 8:33 am
My heart breaks every day, and I bet yours does, too.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:32 pm
beaux says:
Being a person who is on liver transplant waiting list, that really tugged at the heart strings. Beautifully written.
maggie, dammit Reply:
July 31st, 2009 at 8:34 am
I will keep you in my thoughts.
July 30th, 2009 at 9:18 pm
Captain Steve says:
I’m happy for your uncle. He’s one hell of a lucky man; he’s got you and a liver. I’m sad for your church man and his wife. When I was 16 and getting my license my mum was with me and I answered yes and she was upset. I tried to explain that they wouldn’t even notice, really, they fix that sort of thing up.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 9:50 am
It’s funny to me how many people get upset, but I guess I’m so used to it since we lived with it so long. I was trying to explain it to my oldest daughter last night and her first reaction was “ewwwwww.” I was surprised, but it was eye-opening. I guess we’ll just keep talking about it.
August 1st, 2009 at 8:20 am
thatgirlblogs says:
my dad was the recipient of a heart donation… it was the greatest gift. gave us 10 extra years with him.
thatgirlblogs Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 8:41 am
featured you on my site today, dammit.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 9:51 am
Wow. Ten priceless years, I imagine. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m so glad you had that time.
August 1st, 2009 at 7:59 pm
tysdaddy says:
My uncle waited years for a kidney that never came. His blood type was a rare one, making things that much more difficult. It was his heart that got him in the end . . .
Happy Anniversary, my friend.
And it’s good to “see” you again, after a very long hiatus . . .
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 9:51 am
Welcome back! I’m so sorry for your loss.
August 2nd, 2009 at 8:00 am
Neil says:
Why bother commenting on something that says it all.
By the way, your blog is good. But meeting the real person was even better.
Happy Anniversary….
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 9:53 am
I feel the exact same way about you, my friend.
August 2nd, 2009 at 8:48 am
earnestgirl says:
Your categories say it all: love. perspective. I have been on both sides, the screeching and the loving and the in between part where there is depression and there are also stitches. Posts like yours, like this story, like your words are surely the stitches. Thank you for the tears in my eyes.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 12:28 pm
What a gorgeous comment. Thank you.
August 2nd, 2009 at 12:25 pm
PsychMamma says:
Beautifully, wonderfully written. It should be required reading for the world. I’m a donor, largely thanks to my parents’ wonderful example & talking to me about it extensively when I was getting my license. I hope to pass the same example on to our daughter.
I just had a hysterectomy to deal with 20 years of pain from Stage 4 Endometriosis (I’m 38) and asked my surgeon if I could donate my eggs. She gently & politely explained to me that no one would want my old eggs.
It could be that the rest of me is getting to that point too, but if there’s any chance – any HOPE for someone else, I’ll share what I can.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 4:59 pm
I think it’s so cool that you asked, and that your parents were so thoughtful, and that you want to pass this all along to your own daughter. So very, very cool.
August 2nd, 2009 at 1:14 pm
jessica says:
I bow at the alter of your incredible writing. You had me at every single word. You really are incredible, just incredible. I wish so much we lived near each other. I’m sorry, I feel like I’m dribbling all over you but I’m just so moved by this. Hope it is okay that I will be stumbling this.
xo
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 5:58 pm
Lord, girl. I wish we lived closer, too. Wish I knew how to appropriately thank you, or at least make you understand what this means to me. Thank you. xoxo
August 2nd, 2009 at 5:45 pm
kelly says:
Damn. Just fucking Damn, Maggie Girl.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 2nd, 2009 at 7:27 pm
I love it when you say just that, I know exactly what it means from you.
August 2nd, 2009 at 7:25 pm
Life with Kaishon says:
What a powerful post.
I am so glad I came over today.
I am so thankful that your Uncle received such a blessing.
Really amazing.
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 3rd, 2009 at 5:22 am
Thank you so much! And welcome.
August 2nd, 2009 at 9:02 pm
Cornelius says:
I really like your blog and i respect your work. I’ll be a frequent visitor.
August 2nd, 2009 at 10:04 pm
kingofnewyorkhacks says:
Amazing post..Ann’s rants commented on my recent blog , and it seems we are on the same wavelength discussing organ doners and the importance of people becoming more aware…great stuff as usual.
August 3rd, 2009 at 3:14 pm
sizzle says:
And this is why I am an organ donor. Great post.
August 3rd, 2009 at 3:44 pm
Missives From Suburbia says:
Miracles, given and taken.
Beautiful post.
August 3rd, 2009 at 6:40 pm
Jewels says:
Maggie-reading your blog has become one of my favorite parts of my days. My brother was an organ donor…he donated money-not his body. His car sat in my driveway after he killed himself…everytime I walked by those license plates those words ORGAN DONOR just glared at me. None of his organs could be donated, but he donated money in hopes that someone would have a better chance at living even though he just wanted to go…
August 7th, 2009 at 3:08 pm