I've been off for a while, but have still been writing, here and there.
This following piece was written after I read a news article, I believe it was on organ donation, hence the subject matter. I don't often write first-person, but for some pieces it is the only way to convey emotion properly.
Life
“A part of your mummy will always be in me.”
“Will you take care of my mummy?”
“Of course I will, I promise.”
Five years ago I received a new lung, my previous one having given up the ghost after a particularly nasty bout of pneumonia. There is an old practice, mostly seen only in fanciful stories, where a person whose life has been saved by another, dutiful enslaves them self to that person out of gratitude. I thought I was going to die. I now know what it is to truly owe someone your life. I wanted to give up all the time I had to help that person in any way. It is a terrible thing to find out that your organ donor died to give you life, but worse when they have left behind a family. Her name was Sandra Kings and she was a mother of two, wife to a store manager. She was a library assistant in her local university; she had studied there and, after graduating, had tried her hand at baking, writing and travelling. I often wonder what would have happened to all of us if just small parts of her life had gone differently. Often times I feel tremendous guilt when I say to myself “it is good that she witnessed that suffering” – it affected her, yes, it affected all of us who witnessed it (even if it was mostly via T.V.), but that does not mean the suffering was right. But if Sandra had not seen it with her own eyes, experienced it first hand as she did, there would be two of us dead and no story. I make sure that her boys always receive presents, that whenever their father mentions even the tiniest trouble, even in passing, I drop everything. Sandra Kings’ family is my responsibility. It is the least I can do for all the things she has done for me.
An organ might be just meat, but life! Life is so much more. It is not something to be squandered in boardrooms and glum meetings. Why, I might not believe in angels and heaven, but I do believe there is good. Nay, I know there is good. Good has many names and one of those is Sandra.
Obviously I'm not sure how often there will be new pieces for this thread, but at least it's somewhere to throw stuff in the future.
This following piece was written after I read a news article, I believe it was on organ donation, hence the subject matter. I don't often write first-person, but for some pieces it is the only way to convey emotion properly.
Life
“A part of your mummy will always be in me.”
“Will you take care of my mummy?”
“Of course I will, I promise.”
Five years ago I received a new lung, my previous one having given up the ghost after a particularly nasty bout of pneumonia. There is an old practice, mostly seen only in fanciful stories, where a person whose life has been saved by another, dutiful enslaves them self to that person out of gratitude. I thought I was going to die. I now know what it is to truly owe someone your life. I wanted to give up all the time I had to help that person in any way. It is a terrible thing to find out that your organ donor died to give you life, but worse when they have left behind a family. Her name was Sandra Kings and she was a mother of two, wife to a store manager. She was a library assistant in her local university; she had studied there and, after graduating, had tried her hand at baking, writing and travelling. I often wonder what would have happened to all of us if just small parts of her life had gone differently. Often times I feel tremendous guilt when I say to myself “it is good that she witnessed that suffering” – it affected her, yes, it affected all of us who witnessed it (even if it was mostly via T.V.), but that does not mean the suffering was right. But if Sandra had not seen it with her own eyes, experienced it first hand as she did, there would be two of us dead and no story. I make sure that her boys always receive presents, that whenever their father mentions even the tiniest trouble, even in passing, I drop everything. Sandra Kings’ family is my responsibility. It is the least I can do for all the things she has done for me.
An organ might be just meat, but life! Life is so much more. It is not something to be squandered in boardrooms and glum meetings. Why, I might not believe in angels and heaven, but I do believe there is good. Nay, I know there is good. Good has many names and one of those is Sandra.
Obviously I'm not sure how often there will be new pieces for this thread, but at least it's somewhere to throw stuff in the future.