The Letter

It's been an incredible week back here at the "campsite", aka University Hospital. It is a sliver of time that has changed the lives of Kurt, Tom, and me forever. Kurt was given life; he's handled it with quiet dignity and grace. It has and will continue to, on many levels, change his life forever.

Earlier this week the team social worker came to visit. She brought us information on the proper protocol between donor and recipient families. When I was handed the information on composing a letter, a large sense of responsibility washed over me. 

Literally, where do we start? 

Saying "thank you" is not enough; it seems appropriate, but certainly not enough. 

Telling how exciting it is to see his cheeks become rosy again, to see him see him return to an everyday life, or to see him get to eat his beloved curry again with a little salt in it seems to be almost cruel in a way. The donor's family will no longer see a future of their loved one.

Saying that it's a bittersweet time is such an understatement. It's an incredibly rough time when a loved one dies--especially a child. We don't know how old the donor was, but we do know that he or she more than likely has a parent or parents that misses this child every day. And yes, there is an unfathomable amount of tribute and love in sharing such a miraculous gift; to say too little about it would seem ungrateful on my part.   

So, I continue to think about what will be said in the letter. I want them to truly know that we know how precious this gift is. We want them to know that Kurt will treasure their treasure. We want them to know that they are to be admired and blessed for making one of the hardest decisions in their lives at one of the worst times in their lives. We want them to know that this precious gift will never be seen as anything less than a blessed miracle.

I'm still not sure it will be enough.

I will pray that God will give us the right words when the time comes--and I know He will.