Taylor's Gift (16 page)

Every morning I woke up lying on my side, and the first breath I took was a good one—free, easy, and peaceful. Then, with a start, I would think,
Taylor isn't here anymore!
I'd try to remember if it was a dream or if it had really happened, and then, quickly, I'd figure it out.
Yes, this happened. Oh, God, help me! This really happened.
That's when I would awaken to the nightmare. In that horrible moment I wanted to die, but I never did. I wanted to swear, and sometimes did. I wanted to scream, and though I don't remember it, they told me I did. Though the uncontrollable screaming had stopped by now, the uncontrollable crying had not. Some days I cried until I nearly hyperventilated. Even on the days that didn't start out that bad, I dreaded everything that was yet to come.

One more day to get through.

I would roll onto my back and place my palms on my forehead. Then grief, wearing work boots, would step up onto my chest. I would be overcome by a crushing feeling. It weighed heavily on my shoulders and chest, and I could feel the weight of it spreading to my arms, legs, feet, and toes. The crushing feeling was a physical sensation I wore every moment I was awake. The weight was so heavy that I began to slouch, my chin dropping toward my chest
because I could no longer hold it up. My back ached because of the hours I sat slumped over, huddled in a blanket.

The only thing that relieved the pain—both physical and emotional—was sleep. It was the only time I didn't hurt. From the time I woke up in the morning and took that second breath, I couldn't wait until it was time to take an Ambien and go back to sleep.

I missed Taylor like crazy. She had been taken from me so suddenly that I just wanted to be with her one last time. I wanted to see her, touch her, smell her, and hear her. I wanted my little girl, and I wasn't sure I wanted to live without her.

Every day I woke up, I felt disappointed she was gone and I was still here.

One afternoon, I was having a really bad day and I missed Taylor so much. In addition to the crushing weight on my chest, I felt like my heart had been shredded. The pain was so real and so unbearable that I just couldn't take it a minute longer.

“I have got to find the person who has her heart,” I said to Trista, my Grief Fairy.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yes. I just think it would make me feel so much better to hear her heartbeat again.”

“Do you know anything about the recipient?”

“All we know is that she is a nurse from Arizona.”

I told Trista about the conversation with Donor Alliance back at the hospital in Grand Junction, and how Myrna said we could write letters to the recipients but we had to wait at least six months, and then there was no guarantee they would respond.

“I have to hear her heart again, I just have to,” I said. Maybe hearing
her
heart would help to heal
mine
.

Todd

I loved having Taylor's friends over to our house. But I also knew their presence pained Tara in ways I couldn't feel or understand. Our mourning paths had first diverged in that meeting with the Donor Alliance representatives in Grand Junction, and they'd only grown wider since.

I was looking for meaning and purpose from Taylor's death, and when I couldn't see it, I wanted to create it. But Tara's grief was unfocused, unpredictable, and uncontrollable—even to her.

Before we married, Tara and I were best friends. Afterward, we became partners in everything. Now it seemed as if I had lost my best friend and my partner. Most days, her grief confined her to the house and often to her bed. She couldn't remember simple things like what day it was or conversations we'd had only hours earlier. Her emotions ranged from anger to profound sadness. She cried uncontrollably and without provocation. People had to remind her to eat, drink, and bathe.

I began to think of her as disabled.

Laura Springer and I met with Jay Praytor, and together the three of us walked the school property where the current garden sat unattended. We decided that somewhere between five and eight thousand dollars was the right amount to spend on the project.

“What can we get for that?” I asked. I hoped maybe some nice beds that would be easy for the kids to maintain, and maybe a long hose from the water source, which was located in the back of the school. That way, they wouldn't have to water the garden by carrying buckets back and forth.

“Let me see what I can work out,” Jay said, promising to get back to us with a quote.

A few days later, he was back with elaborate drawings that included stonework, lighting, sidewalks, and underground sprinklers. As he talked Laura and me through the architectural designs created by a professional architect, I could see his enthusiasm building. But I cringed, knowing we didn't have the budget for all the extravagant things he wanted to do. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer.

“Jay, the budget is seven thousand dollars—eight max. We can't do all of this.”

With a sparkle in his eye, Jay looked at us and said, “Every single landscaper and company I've talked to wanted to donate something. This is an eighty-thousand-dollar project, and it's basically costing us nothing!”

I was stunned.

“So, when do we get started?” Jay asked, a smile growing on his face.

We decided it would be really nice to dedicate the garden on April 19—Taylor's birthday—but that was less than a month away. “That's a pretty ambitious goal,” Jay said. “If we're going to get it done in time, we need to get started immediately.” He turned to Laura. “How long will it take to get permission to build and dig on city property?”

“Just get started,” Laura said. “I'll ask for forgiveness later.”

After that incredible meeting, anytime I drove by the school I would see backhoes chomping the dirt, stonemasons laboring, and landscaping crews sodding, planting, and trimming. They even brought in work lights, and the progress continued well into the night.

A little more than a week after I spoke to the kids at Coppell Middle School East, a dad of one of Taylor's classmates sent me a beautiful email. In his email, he told me how his daughter had been so touched by the things I'd said that day that she wanted to do something to help.

He was a big supporter of organ donation, and we immediately hit it off. I invited him over to the house, where I learned he was also a website developer. During one of our conversations, I told him how I wanted to direct people to one place on the web where they could learn more about Taylor, be educated about organ donation, and sign up to be an organ donor.

“Would you be willing to help me build a website that did all that?” I asked. He agreed. Soon I had assembled a team of people to create a new online portal. Each night, after Tara and the kids went to bed, one or more team members joined me at the kitchen table or out on the back porch. I'd tell stories about Taylor and together we would work on the design and function of the new website.

“I just want to make something good out of something so bad,” I told the team. “Maybe it is just a gift we can leave, maybe it's Taylor's gift,” I said, thinking out loud.

“What are we going to call this?” someone asked.

I thought for a moment and said, “What about Taylor's Gift?”

Soon, we were all referring to this thing we were building as “Taylor's Gift Foundation.”

Within a few days of the funeral, I was spending hours every day working on something that had the potential to change and
save lives. I would stay up until three in the morning talking with friends who agreed to partner with me. And, just like they had the school garden, the community of Coppell embraced the idea.

A law firm offered to help us file the necessary paperwork to become a 501(c)3 tax-exempt organization, so we could receive donations. Friends volunteered their time and expertise. I assembled a team of advisers. Each of these advisers introduced me to new people who wanted to help, and soon I had volunteers with marketing, publicity, legal, social media, and film backgrounds offering to help create not only a foundation and a website but also a documentary that would encourage people to donate their organs.

Taylor's Gift Foundation was a positive thing into which I could channel my energy. It gave me purpose.

In the past, when one of the kids celebrated a birthday, Tara would wake up early and decorate the kitchen. She'd arrange signs that said “Happy Birthday” and hang crepe paper streamers, banners, and balloons. She wanted to make the day extra special for the birthday boy or girl. She even did it on
my
birthday. It was an expected tradition in our family. But this year when I woke up on March 28, I knew there wouldn't be signs and streamers. No banners or balloons. I didn't want or need any of that, and Tara didn't need any pressure on her to do that sort of thing. Without traditions to navigate my choices, I spent the early morning hours thinking,
It's my birthday, what do I want?
Then the answer came.
I want to be with people.

I called a friend who lived across the street and asked him if he would bring his fire pit into the cul-de-sac later that evening. “I want to get some people together tonight,” I said.

It was a chilly day, and a bunch of friends hanging out together around a fire pit seemed like the perfect way to spend the evening. I composed a text that said, “Come to the cul-de-sac. It's my birthday,” and then sent it to some of my closest friends. Immediately,
people started texting back, saying they would come. The day was shaping up to be a good one.

I got busy working on things for the foundation and for the memorial garden, and the hours quickly passed. When Tara woke up, I went in and sat on the bed, and explained my plan.

“So, a few hours ago, I invited friends to come over and hang out in the cul-de-sac for my birthday. We'll have a fire pit, and we'll smoke a few cigars . . .”

A shadow crossed Tara's face as I talked.

“About forty guys have already said that they're coming,” I said excitedly. “I guess the word got out.”

“I cannot believe you're doing this,” Tara said through clenched teeth.

“What? Inviting some guys over for my birthday?”

“It's like you think nothing's happened. And now you're throwing a party?” she said, raising her voice. I could tell she was mad.

I got up from the bed, walked to the door, and closed it. I didn't want the kids to hear us fighting. I turned back, looked her in the eyes, and said, “How
dare
you think I'm acting normal! How
dare
you think I'm not suffering! I'm trying so hard just to get through the day!” I could feel the blood pulsing in my head, and I knew my face was red with anger.

What was she thinking?

“If it hadn't been for me, the visitation, the funeral, the funeral plot, none of it would have been done! I'm the one spending hours a day trying to create a memorial garden for Taylor while you're sleeping. I'm working day and night on a website so more lives will be saved through Taylor's story. I'm the one trying to make something good come out of the pain! And yet, you have the audacity to say I'm acting like
nothing happened
?”

It wasn't like I was having a huge party with cake and balloons. It was barely a celebration. I just wanted to hang out with a few friends on my birthday. Why shouldn't I? Tara was the one lying in bed crippled by grief; should I be crippled too?
I deserved this.

“Just let me have it; it's what I need,” I added, and quickly left the bedroom before I could say something I'd later regret.

A chill filled the night air. We all wore jackets and tried to stand as close to the fire pit as possible. All my buddies came. My dad was there, along with Tara's dad, Bernie, some of my brothers-in-law, and a number of my neighbors. When we were all assembled, I looked to my friend John Lookabaugh and said, “Would you say a prayer to bless this evening and get it started?” John and I have been friends for a long time. Not only do we share a faith in God, but we also share the same sense of humor. He prayed a beautiful prayer, and I was thankful he was there. After he finished praying, he offhandedly made a remark. I don't recall what it was, but for some reason, I found it hysterical. I doubled over in laughter.

It was the first laugh of the night, but it was also my first laugh since Taylor's accident. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Things still weren't right between Tara and me. I tried to put it out of my mind. I just wanted to be present for the guys, but it was hard.

About midway through the evening, Ryan came running out.

“Dad, Dad!” he said, trying to get my attention. I turned to look at him. “You have to come; we've got to show you something.”

I excused myself from the guys and followed Ryan into the house. Tara and Peyton were sitting on the couch in the family room and looking out the back window. The backyard looked dark. Other than the full moon, I couldn't make out much else. “Look!” Ryan said excitedly, pointing out the window. “Isn't it cool?”