From The Mind Of Wag...

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The Donor Was a Person | An Organ Donation Educational Moment

We use phrases like: Donor heart. Donor kidney. Donor lungs. They’re useful words. They help doctors, transplant teams, recipients and families talk about something incredibly complex. But there’s something those words can unintentionally do. They can turn a person into an organ. Before there was a donor heart, there was a person. Someone had a name. Someone had people they loved—and people who loved them. They had favorite foods. Songs they knew every word to. Inside jokes. Bad habits. Plans for next weekend. People they expected to see again. They had a life that mattered completely apart from what eventually happened to their organs. Before “Donor” Came a Life We often tell organ donation stories from the recipient’s side. Someone was dying. An organ became available. A transplant happened. A life was saved. That story is true. But it isn’t the whole story. Because while one family was receiving the news they desperately hoped for, another family was experiencing something entirely ...

The Garden Gate | Remember: Stories about uncovering what was never really lost.

How far do we have to travel before we realize what we were looking for was already home? The gate still stuck. He smiled when he discovered that. Forty-three years had passed since he had last pushed it open, but apparently no one had ever bothered to fix the bottom hinge. He lifted slightly as he pushed, just as his father had taught him when he was a boy. Up, then over. The gate scraped across the concrete and swung open. Some things, apparently, remembered you too. He stood there for a moment with one hand resting on the weathered wood. The house beyond it wasn’t his anymore. It hadn’t been for decades. A young couple owned it now. They had bought it from the family who bought it from the family his parents had sold it to when they moved away. He knew none of them. But when he had knocked on the front door and explained that he grew up there, the woman who answered had smiled. “Would you like to see the backyard?” He almost said no. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had stopped in the...

The Window Seat | Remember: Stories about uncovering what was never really lost.

What changes when we stop trying to outrun ourselves? He always chose the aisle. Not because he was afraid of flying or needed the extra room. He chose it because the aisle made leaving easier. After years of traveling for work, he had developed a system. Laptop out before takeoff. Earbuds in. Inbox open the moment the Wi-Fi connected. By the time the wheels touched down, he could have half a day’s work behind him. Airports no longer felt like places. They were transitions. Houston. Atlanta. Chicago. Denver. Gate numbers. Boarding groups. Rental cars. Hotel rooms. He knew which airports had decent coffee, which security lines moved fastest and exactly how late he could arrive at the gate without hearing his name over the speaker. He was good at traveling. Mostly because he had learned how to make it disappear. So, when he booked the early flight home that Thursday morning, he chose the aisle. At least, he thought he had. The gate agent looked at his boarding pass, then at her screen. “...

The Second Cup | Remember: Stories about uncovering what was never really lost.

What does it mean to keep living when living has always included someone else? Every morning, he made two cups of coffee. He had done it for so many years that he barely thought about it anymore. His cup went on one side of the table. Hers went on the other. Even after she died. The first morning, perhaps it made sense. Grief doesn’t immediately learn new routines. The body keeps doing what love taught it to do. Reach for two cups. Pour twice. Set one beside the chair where she had always sat. But then there was another morning. And another. Two cups. Two places. One empty chair. Sometimes he sat there until both cups were cold. Friends worried about him. His children called more often. Everyone seemed to offer some version of the same advice. You’ve got to keep living. He knew they were right. He just didn’t know what that meant. Because for most of his adult life, living had included her. Living was hearing her slippers cross the kitchen floor. It was knowing how much cream she...

The Last Key | Remember: Stories about uncovering what was never really lost.

What keys do we keep carrying long after the doors they opened are gone? For twenty years, the key had opened nothing. And for twenty years, he had carried it anyway. It hung from the same ring as the keys to his house, his truck and the small padlock on the shed. Old brass. Worn smooth around the edges. There had been a time when he reached for it several times a day without thinking. The front entrance. The east hallway. The gymnasium. His office. For thirty-two years, he had been a school principal. And that key had opened nearly every door in the building. He knew the school before it was awake. The sound of the custodian’s cart rolling through an empty hallway. The smell of freshly waxed floors in August. The strange silence after the last bus pulled away. He had handed out diplomas. Broken up fights. Sat with frightened first-year teachers. Called parents with good news and terrible news. For thirty-two years, people had called him Principal Harris. Then one Friday afternoo...

The Call Came. Does That Mean You’re Getting a Transplant? | An Organ Donation Educational Moment

There may be no phone call a person waiting for a transplant wants more than this one: “We may have an organ for you.” After days, weeks, months — or sometimes years — of waiting, imagine hearing those words. This might be it. The waiting is finally be over... Except there’s something many people outside the transplant world don’t realize: The call doesn’t always mean you’re getting the transplant. Sometimes it means there is a potential organ. There are still things that have to happen. The transplant team has to evaluate the available organ. Medical information has to be reviewed. Compatibility and other factors have to be considered. The recipient has to be ready for surgery. And sometimes, somewhere during that process, the answer changes. Not this one. From the Call to the Transplant Think about the emotional distance between: “We may have an organ for you.” and “We’re not going to proceed.” You may have told your family. You may have rushed to the hospital. You may have st...