Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby’s face, or love in the eyes of a woman.
Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain.
Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreakage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play.
Give my kidneys to one who depends on a machine to exist from week to week.
Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.
Explore every corner of my brain. Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow. So that someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.
Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow.
If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weaknesses, and all prejudice against my fellow man.
Give my sins to the devil.
Give my soul to God.
My friend Shanie died four years ago yesterday and on Wednesday it will be seven years since her older sister, Lianne, who I was also friends with died. They both had Cystic Fibrosis.
Organ Transplants gave them both extra time – Lianne had a heart lung transplant and gained two years (her own heart, which was healthy, was transplanted into another patient as the transplant was considered to have more chance of success if the heart was transplanted too), Shanie had a double lung transplant and gained a little more than a year of extra time.
I love the above poem and couldn’t think of a better way to honour my friends than by sharing it here.