Taylor's Gift (21 page)

But we'd been told we had to wait six months before we could send a letter to Donor Alliance to forward to the recipients, and it had to be sent by snail mail. So we expected the process to take months—maybe even a year. We never expected that within a few weeks of Taylor's death we'd get an email directly from a recipient, or in this case, his daughter.

Apparently, Donor Alliance didn't expect it either. We called them the next morning and said we'd heard from a Brooke Kartus who claimed her dad, Jeff, had received Taylor's kidney and pancreas. After a flurry of phone calls and some emergency meetings at their offices, Donor Alliance basically confirmed that Brooke was who she said she was. “But can you wait to contact her until we've had a chance to talk to our board? We've never had this happen before.”

But there was no waiting. Tara and I had already emailed her. Why wouldn't we? We'd been told there was a chance we'd never connect with an organ recipient and now, just weeks later, we had. We'd immediately looked Brooke up on Facebook and confirmed she lived in Colorado. We couldn't wait to connect, so Tara and I had emailed her. “It was wonderful to get your email. Thank you so much for reaching out. How is your dad doing?”

We were the first donor family with Donor Alliance to connect with a recipient family through social media, and they didn't have a process for handling that yet. A couple of days later, they got back to us and said, “We can't stop you, but would you please sign this legal document releasing us from any liability before you contact her?”

By then, we'd already been chatting with Brooke on Facebook. We learned her dad lived in Colorado and had been unable to work for years because of his diabetes. Over the past few years,
the diabetes had taken a toll on his health, his kidneys had failed, and he'd had to go on dialysis. After the transplant, he was able to stop both dialysis and insulin shots. His diabetes was cured! It was amazing to hear how Taylor's kidney and pancreas had made such a remarkable difference in the life of one man and his family.

People asked me how it felt to connect with someone who had received Taylor's organs. It was hard to explain. There was a sense of excitement, but “excited” wasn't really what I felt. For Tara, it was emotional. To her, it felt like a little bit of steam had been released from the pressure of her grief. She had a strong desire to connect with Jeff, to know more about him, and to help him know us and know Taylor. We made plans to visit the Kartus family in June. The kids would be out of school, and we had already planned a family trip to the beach and a weekend in California with Donate Life to present an award. The documentary crew could travel with us, and it just made sense to do it all then.

It felt important to Tara and me that Taylor's gift be acknowledged. It wasn't that we needed to be thanked or appreciated, but we wanted the person who received the gift to appreciate it. Brooke showed us that in her email. She recognized the good gift her father had received.

It was just one more confirmation that our foundation work was important. We could point to something good that had come out of Taylor's death. Jeff was a real person, a cowboy living in Colorado who had a wife, a son, a daughter, and for the first time in a long time, freedom from dialysis and daily insulin injections. Knowing Jeff was out there reminded us of how many more people just like him were out there. He was something tangible for us to cling to as we went forward with the foundation work.

That night in the kitchen, I remember sitting back and thinking,
Of course, we heard from them now. We're supposed to hear from them now.
It just fell in line with everything else God was doing. It was one more sign from God saying we were on the right course and that He would provide for us.

Tara

I watched the celebrities line up in front of the Donate Life signage for photos. Each one arrived with an entourage and paused to smile for the cameras before entering the ballroom.
What am I doing here?
I thought. It was hard to describe how big this moment was for me. After all, it had only been three months since the accident.

Most days I barely got dressed in clean pajamas. The farthest I got from my bedroom was the back porch. Now here I was in a cocktail dress and heels at an invitation-only, opening night, VIP cocktail reception for the Donate Life Film Festival. Looking around, I saw celebrities I recognized. Alex O'Loughlin, currently starring in
Hawaii Five-O
, stood chatting with a group of people across the room from me. Near the bar sat Olympic medalist and pro snowboarder Chris Klug. Producers and directors from shows such as
Extreme Makeover Home Edition
wandered through the crowd with network executives. Most days I could barely talk to my friends and family, and now I was standing in a group of strangers trying to make small talk. What was I doing here? My eyes were
preoccupied with the room, but my mind was focused on Taylor. Losing her was the only reason we were here. I'd give anything to have her back.

“What do you do?” a pleasant woman asked. She had shoulder-length dark hair and wore a snakeskin print dress with a matching jacket.

I looked at her smiling face and tried to decide how to answer her question. “We were asked to present an award at tomorrow night's ceremony. We lost our daughter . . .” My voice trailed off, and tears started to flow. By this time, a couple of women had joined us, and someone handed me a Kleenex. I dabbed my eyes. I had on makeup for the first time in months, and I didn't want to ruin it. Through my sniffles, I continued, “Now we have a foundation to increase awareness about organ donation. We named it after our daughter. It's called Taylor's Gift. We've only started, but we believe in what we're doing.”

The women in the circle became very compassionate. “Oh,” and “I'm so sorry,” they said. I appreciated their compassion, but I just wanted to make it through the night without more tears. I knew the best way to do it was to take the focus off me.

“Why are you here?” I asked the dark-haired woman.

“I donated a kidney to my husband.”

“Oh, that's great. When?”

“About eight years ago,” she said. “It really changed his life.”

“That's beautiful,” I said, attempting to keep the small talk going.

I introduced myself to the woman, and she said her name was Ann. She asked about my necklace—it was a tiny silver picture frame with a picture of Taylor inside—and we talked about her a little bit. Then Todd walked up with drinks for each of us. The lights dimmed, letting us know it was time for the program to start, and Ann excused herself. Once we were in our seats, someone on stage made a few announcements and then said, “Let me introduce tonight's mistress of ceremonies, Ann Lopez!”

“Todd, that's her! That's the woman I was talking to,” I said, watching her walk to the mic.

Ann talked briefly about herself—it turns out she was George Lopez's wife. He was a comedian with a new show on TV that was doing very well, something he never could have done without her kidney. After a brief introduction, she went on to explain the rest of the night's lineup. Suddenly, in the middle of her remarks, she went off-script.

“You know what? Let me stop here. Tara and Todd Storch? Where are you?” Todd and I tentatively looked at each other. He nodded, and I barely raised my hand, but it was enough for her to see me in the crowd.

“They recently lost their daughter, and they donated her organs. Now, they've started a foundation called Taylor's Gift to increase awareness about organ donation.” She smiled at us. “I am so impressed with you. Thank you for what you are doing. I just wanted to acknowledge that.”

Everyone was looking at me, and all of a sudden the entire room burst into spontaneous applause. It was surreal. Then, as if nothing had happened, Ann gave us a huge smile and went right back to her script.

Todd called moments like these “of course” moments. Of course, God would do something to introduce us and our foundation to everyone in the room. Of course, it would be big, bold, and completely unexpected, so big that, of course, we could only give
Him
the credit. As Todd took a step of faith to quit his job and work for the foundation, this was yet another reminder of how much God cared for us and how He walked alongside us every step of the way.

Before we left that night, Ann Lopez came back over and hugged me. “You have got to keep in touch with me, you've got to!” she said.

Of course
, we would.

The next night we presented an award at Donate Life's annual film festival awards ceremony. A number of people we spoke with in the entertainment industry were interested in hearing more about our documentary.

Ana Lucia Cottone was one individual who stood out. At the time, she was an executive at Lifetime Television. She looked like a California girl, young, tan, and blonde, but she was actually from Guatemala and spoke with a beautiful accent. After the presentation, she came up to Todd and me, hugged us, and said she wanted to hear our story. We liked her immediately, but our conversation was interrupted by others who came up to speak with her. She had to leave sooner than expected, but she said, “I really want to connect with you,” as she left the room.

“Yeah, right,” we joked to each other. “She's a network bigwig; it's not like we'll ever see her again.”

She left—but she was back a few minutes later with her card. “Here's my number. I really want to stay in touch with you,” she said. Then she was gone again.

The party ended, and Todd and I waited in the lobby for our Donate Life representative. Before we headed back to our hotel, we wanted to thank her again for including us. I'd been trying to hold it together all night, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it much longer. “I'll go back inside and see if she's there,” Todd said. “You can just wait here.”

Todd was gone only a few seconds when Ana Lucia came back in the door, looking like she was on a mission. When she saw me she walked over and said, “I'm not done with you.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“There's just something about you; I don't think I am done with you yet,” she said.

My lip trembled, and I bit it to stop the tears that I knew were coming. Seeing my emotions surface, she said, “I know you don't know me, but I'm going to tell you a story.”

I was glad; I couldn't do much talking at the time anyway.

“A very long time ago, there lived some Buddhist monks. Their village had been decimated by war and enemies were attacking their culture. To protect themselves, they had to move their village. But part of their religious tradition included this huge Buddha made of mud that they loved and worshiped. They wanted to take it with them to the new village, but they were fearful because they knew if they moved the statue, it could crack and break. Yet they couldn't move on without their Buddha.”

I had no idea where the story was going, but Ana Lucia was a good storyteller, and I was hooked.

“So the whole village assembled, and the plan was to carefully work together to move this clay Buddha. But when they started to move it, the Buddha started to crack as they feared. Soon, the cracks got bigger and chunks of Buddha mud fell to the ground.” Ana Lucia looked me in the eye. “But underneath the mud was gold.”

She placed both her hands on my shoulders and said, “You're going to have to crack before you can find your gold.”

I'm sure I said something really smart and impressive back; I think it was, “Oh, wow.” But I knew then that Ana Lucia was right. She wasn't done with us yet. She offered to drive us back to our hotel so we could talk more. We've stayed in touch since then. Every time I felt as if I were going to break, or I couldn't hold it together, I'd think of her story, allow it to happen, and look for gold.

My extended family lived in Louisiana, so every year they went to Gulf Shores, Alabama, for a family vacation. We had never been. It was June, only three months since we had lost Taylor, but we thought that it would be good to get away and to have a strong family around us if we needed it. I knew I was a mess, but maybe being around extended family would help distract me. Distractions were good. It would get us out of the house, and we'd get to do something fun with the kids.

Once we got to Gulf Shores, we unpacked and went down to the beach. I sat near my cousins, who were there with friends. We were all talking and watching Ryan and Peyton play in the ocean.
This is going to be good
, I thought.
The kids will be distracted, they're happy, and it's all going to be fine.

“So, you're Ray's cousin?” the guy standing next to me said.

“Yeah.”

“You all just got in town?”

“Yeah, we just drove in today from Texas.” My eyes were on the kids, and I wanted to make sure they didn't venture out too far. I yelled to Peyton and Ryan, “You guys need to stay close!”

“How many kids do you have?” the guy asked.

Shocked by his question, I burst into tears. I'd not been asked that since Taylor had left.
How do I answer that?

“I have those two,” I said, pointing. That was all I could say.

My cousin saw what was happening and rescued me from the conversation. I walked off down the beach so I could cry without people staring. It was the first time it happened, but it wouldn't be the last. Every time I got my nails done, chatted with a new mom at school, or met a new neighbor, that question eventually would come up. When we went into a restaurant and they said, “How many are in your party?” I'd have to stop before answering the question. Eventually, in counseling Judy helped me learn how to handle it.

“Just say you have three, and change the subject by asking them a question,” she taught me.

That usually worked, but it was still a question I would never be comfortable answering again.

We made it through our first family vacation without Taylor, and we'd held it together. But on the ride home it was just the four of us, and none of us could keep up the brave front much longer. Todd asked me to drive so he could “work” on his laptop. I knew
it was just a code word for his wanting to escape, but I was happy to drive. It helped to distract me too. In the back, the kids were each doing their own thing. Ryan was playing video games; Peyton was watching a movie.

About an hour into the drive, without warning, I heard sniffling from Ryan. I dabbed my eyes at the sound. Then Peyton started sniffling. Soon Ryan was bawling, Peyton was crying, and my tears were flowing. Every time Ryan cried, it just set Peyton off, and hearing them cry, well, there was no turning back the flood of grief that was drowning them. I looked over at Todd. He'd closed his laptop and was staring out the window. I knew he was trying not to cry in front of the kids, which only made me cry harder.