⚠️Warning⚠️
This post contains details about suicide and descriptions of death.
Reader discretion is advised.
*names have been changed.
About two hours have passed since officers stood in my house on February 28th to tell me my son was dead. It was now in the very first hours of the first day of our lives without him. That's all I could think. It's been about 3 hours and I can't think past "this isn't real."
It was me, my husband, Enzo's biological sister and her fiancé standing there. The conversation was quiet. I had called her first after officers left. She came over to speak in person.
"We only know the detective said he seems to have waited until an officer arrived on scene before he shot himself."
My head was an awful whirl of in and out of awareness. The words moved closer and farther away as I heard them.
But when my phone rang a few seconds later, I was instantly in focus. It had something to do with Enzo. No one else is calling at 3 in the morning. I see the word "medical" in the caller ID when I look down.
"This is *Jessica. I'm with the organ donation organization. I understand this is a difficult time but Josiah has an opportunity right now."
Josiah.
Hardly anyone calls him that.
She goes on to describe how Enzo's body can be used. Her voice, while saying words I don't want to hear, is comforting. She's using a perfect mixture of purpose and sympathy.
Yes. The answer is yes. I want to donate.
We want to donate.
I pause. I'm not the only family member here. I look to Enzo's sister. "The hospital is asking if we want to donate his organs," my voice is foreign to me right now.
"Yes. That's probably the easiest answer to anything right now," she quips. That comment sticks me like a knife. It IS the easiest thing to answer right now.
I turn back to the phone.
"Use everything you can." I knew because of the few hours that passed since his death, it was unlikely they could harvest any organs. But anything else, which probably isn't much, could still help someone.
She asked if I was absolutely sure.
I am.
I will never forget the relief in her voice. Ever.
After I hung up, we shared a few words about how we all knew with 100% certainty that Enzo wanted to donate. It was comforting to know that somewhere, a family was receiving wonderful news, while mine stood in our living room with the worst news.
We didn't know about his Tweets yet. We didn't know he that he set up his account to post after his death and one of those Tweets, he specifically mentions organ donation. We find that out over a week later.
Use everything. Those words will visit me in a way I'm not ready for. When I arrive at the funeral home to see him for the last time, the director begs me not to view him. When I press him on why, he responds with brutal honesty.
"They took everything. They used all of it."
Oh.
Yes, I told them to. I'm ok with that. Can I see his face without seeing everything else? Yes? Ok. Then show me.
Yes, I'm sure.
My last view of my son's face is from the chin up only. He's in the freezer. Hes been gone over a week (It takes a lot to return someone from Oklahoma). He will be cremated soon.
A heavy, wool blanket covers everything else. There's a tissue laying on the right side of his face. It's covering the wound, I can tell. His head is placed in a way I can't see the exit wound. There's a pillow. His left eye is barely open and his distinctive blue eye is visible to me.
This funeral director knew I would still want to see him & it's clear he went to some lengths to spare me all the trauma he could. I'm forever grateful that.
I touch Enzo's cheek. I wrap a curl around my finger. I speak to him.
It's been 2 years. Other phone calls followed from the organization that coordinated the donations. One to tell me about his donation. They were not able to use any organs but tissue donation, like tendons, cartilage, his heart valve & tissue from one eye: all used.
They also told me I might hear from a recipient. I might not. You will never know. It might be 20 years or two months if one does reach out.
His left eye.
I saw that eye. The right eye was closed. So my guess is they used his right eye because the left... well, I think it was gone. I don't know.
One more phone call followed. Around the date of his death. The holidays, we got a card. And a few things for fundraisers with the organization. If I lived closer, I would participate, but I'm still glad to be aware of what they're doing.
Each time, emotions overtake me. I want to die from the pain. But each time, there is a reminder of something good my son did even in death. Something bitter and sweet.
By now, I'm fully aware of the Tweets. Enzo confirmed he wanted to donate, that he thought about that.
But still, there are no words to describe the emotions around donating your son's tissue. None.
One more phone call.
I missed this one and listened to the message.
"This is *Amber with the donation organization. We received a letter from a recipient-"
I'm walking into my boss's office as I hear the words. I gasp & immediately run back to my office.
I call them back and tell them yes, I want to receive the letter. If you've ever received one, then you know - they don't just send those letters. They ask the donor's family first. Some people can't do the reminder. I understand. But I want this reminder. No, NEED THIS REMINDER.
So here I am. Waiting for a letter.
To be continued...
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