We can’t change our last words to him. We can’t change that when all the gifts are wrapped and set underneath the tree, he isn’t standing beside me. We can’t change that he won’t be helping them with their gifts on Christmas morning.
Because you were you, and then he entered, and now you’re you. And that’s just that.
I am a firm believer that empathy only leaves you when you’ve convinced your mind that no one cares about your pain. If yours doesn’t matter, why should theirs? And when I sit somewhere and I look up at a metal roof—first, I think of my husband. Second, I think of the crash. Third, I think of that man’s eyes.
While therapy and exercise have been beneficial for me when needing to clear my mind, address my grief, and work on self-discovery, writing has been the most accessible and enjoyable. In light of mental health awareness month, I wanted to share some of my journal ramblings with you. Writing has always been an outlet for me, whether it’s creative or therapeutic or both; it serves what I need in the moment. Crafting a story, structuring a narrative, or letting my stream of consciousness flow in whatever direction it needs, it allows me to zone out and then focus all in one place.
I can picture his eyes from the very first day I met him all the way through to the last day I saw him. They are always what I see first when I think of him. They are beautiful, ever-changing eyes.
In that memory I realized that of course he should donate his organs and we should wait a little longer for this to be possible. Not because of me. Not because of what this strange man was saying. Because he wanted to. Because he will no longer be here to help anyone, and in this way he can continue helping people.
There’s truly no greater gift he could have given. The letter ended with: “Because Matthew chose to give the gift of life there are four people who are alive today. . .”
“I’m thankful I can tell my boys they were created out of love. For everything else to be wrong, I know that to be true.”
People have said, “I don’t know how you do it.” “I’m amazed at your strength.” What they don’t realize is that it’s not just my strength I’ve summoned together. I’m using my own and borrowing from others. It takes a village and that need doesn’t go away. It’s the women in my life who will continue to raise my boys with me. The fiercest of all women. The most resilient.
All three of us, in different life and developmental stages, process everything differently. What brings clarity to one, confuses the other. What comforts one, hurts the other.