The Gift of the Heart, Literally

I Knocked on the door to Robert's house, hoping I would have the

courage to ask the question, hoping that this time, the lump of grief

that had taken permanent residence at the base of my throat would

not interfere and choke my opportunity to make my request. I had

tried so many times before. And so many times before, that dreaded

lump of grief stole my voice, denying me a means with which to

make my request. Waiting outside the door, I could feel my palms

getting wet as my knee caps began a little frenetic dance of their

own. Standing in the warm Albuquerque sunshine, I practiced, in

my head, what I would say when he opened the door. And I

worried, “What if Robert didn't open the door?” Taking big gulps

of air, I told myself to relax. Hearing footsteps, my heart skipped a

beat. The door opened and smiling widely, Robert greeted me.

 
My hands outstretched, I embraced Robert in a big hug. “Ask Now,

Now, Now!” rang in my head. Gulping the air once more, I blurted,

“Robert, can I listen to Jeremy's heart?” On previous visits, I had

wanted to make this request. I always choked up at the thought and

those words I could not muster.

Still smiling, he replied, “I'm surprised, Mushroom, that you hadn't

asked before. Of course you can listen to this most marvelous gift

that your family gave me. Would you like to use your ear, a glass

or the stethoscope?”

My ear was the only choice I would consider. I wanted to feel my

son, hug my son, hold my son. I told Robert that if I cried that it

was OK. Sitting in his big easy chair, Robert pointed to his chest.

Leaning over the arm of his chair, I put my ear to his chest and

listened to the “gift” thumping happily in Robert's chest. Beating

with the strength and vigor of a 22 year old, Jeremy's heart let me

know that life was good.

Robert, along with his wife and two teenage children, chatted with

me for a while. Robert told me how grateful he was for the gift of

Jeremy's heart. The doctor told him that his new heart was healthy

and strong and that it should last him a long time. I expressed my

gratitude for the news. It was news from the heart, so to speak. Our

conversation moved on to talk of work, family and future plans

only interrupted by sips of soda and an occasional laugh. When our

conversation came to its natural conclusion, I got up to leave.

As Robert opened the door he offered me one more opportunity to

listen to the gift we had given him. Standing, I put my arms around

him, sunk my ear into his chest and whispered inaudibly, “Jeremy,

I miss you. I love you and will forever.” Tears began to flow once

again. Releasing the hold I had on Robert, I regained my

composure. Tears were flowing out of Robert's eyes as he said, “Ya

know, Mushroom, I am not a touchy, feely kind of guy, but when

you were hugging me, I have never felt so loved in all of my life.” 

The lump in my throat prevented any reply. I gave Robert one more

hug and walked out the door.

Robert didn't realize what a heartfelt gift his last words have given me.