A letter to … an organ donor's wife

[okarol]

A letter to … an organ donor's wife
The letter you always wanted to write

A special box for tranporting human organs for transplant at Dulwich Hospital Photograph: Graham Turner for the Guardian
I don't know you at all. I only know that you lived in Glasgow and were widowed in June 1996, but 18 years ago I felt closer to you than to any other human being. And I feel close to you again today. Eighteen years ago, you took an early decision as a widow and allowed your husband's organs to be used for others. Eighteen years ago, I stood outside the operating theatre and wondered if your husband's liver would save my husband's life or if, like you, I was about to embark on widowhood.

I wondered what it felt like to be you then and those feelings were in my heart for the whole of that long day. Today, I probably know because my husband has just died, after the 18 years of life you gave him.

What did he do with those years? A lot. He was a classical musician of rare and subtle talent. A wonderful performer and a glorious composer with a musical integrity in his settings of poems, particularly Hardy and Barnes. His appalling lifelong health meant that he had to focus his energies carefully and for 10 years after the transplant he decided he should devote it to teaching and examining young musicians, which he did, raising the respect and admiration of musical educators and pupils everywhere he went. His last coherent comment, the day before he died, was advice to his godson, an aspiring conductor.

He needed your husband's liver because his had been damaged by hepatitis C contracted through treatment for the severe haemophilia that shaped his life. Over the years he lost the use of one hand – just as his concert pianist career might have taken off – so he learned the french horn instead. He endured incessant pain and illness and increasing mobility problems with a matter-of-fact nonchalance and life, even in all the suffering, was very precious to him. He was an immensely sociable and funny person to be with.

Apart from life, your husband's liver gave him freedom from haemophilia meaning he could travel in relative safety. We went up Scottish mountains, into Arctic Russia, to the most northerly inhabited village on the planet (where he bought a mug – he liked buying mugs), into the remotest parts of the Pyrenees to look at Cathar castles. He really enjoyed being a member of the very select former haemophiliacs club.

He served his community as a parish organist – he has given 56 years unbroken service to several very lucky churches. His commitment and his ability to make light of his very obvious physical difficulties, and his spiritual, unquestioning acceptance of his lot were a great inspiration to all those who witnessed it. And he was a loyal, supportive and generous husband to me, never being jealous of my ability to follow my chosen career when his had been taken from him.

We never forget your husband. We light candles in every cathedral we ever visit for him and a light in his memory is on our local hospice tree every Christmas. My husband was overawed by the gift you made and the responsibility he had for using it well, and could not put that awe into words. But he did in music.

His body will be used, I hope, for medical research – in particular looking at the impact of hepatitis C on transplanted livers because at 18 years he was one of the longest survivors on record. So I just wanted to say thank you for making the decision you did when you were feeling the pain I am feeling now. I will never know your name but you feel like a sister to me right now.

Alison

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/may/03/letter-to-organ-donor-wife?CMP=twt_gu