May 25th, 2003 fell on a Sunday, just like today. It was a clear, sunny day, just like today. It was the day before Memorial Day, just like today. My mind tries to find significance in coincidence. It's a human failing, I guess.
I wonder where my donor's mother is today. It's five years after two of her children's lives were ended. It's five years since another child was injured badly enough to require multiple surgeries in the years after. It's five years since her home and all her belongings were destroyed in a blaze. It's five years since she let strangers intrude on her grief and ask a favor on my behalf. It's been five years since she gave permission to have her 13 year old son's liver given to a woman she'd never meet. I don't believe in God, but I pray she's found peace somehow.
Today I feel small. Today I feel vulnerable. Today there's nobody here who understands. They've gotten past it, gotten over it, gotten back onto the paths of their lives. They don't need to play the "five years ago today" game. After all, it's just a coincidence that today the earth finds itself in the same relative position to the stars for the fifth time since I earned the white upside-down "Y" that cuts below my ribs from side to side and up to my breastbone. But my mind insists on finding significance in coincidence. It's a human failing that leads to no solace.