The Day I Lost Him
Our daughter was born safely.
But Mark never got the chance to hold her.
That is something I will carry with me forever.
He passed away in the hospital with my hand wrapped tightly around his.
I remember staring at his face and waiting for him to open his eyes.
He didn't.
For a while, I couldn't accept that the man beside me was gone.
Then reality came crashing down.
The hospital staff spoke to me about his final wishes.
Mark had registered his decision to donate his organs if he was medically eligible.
I signed the necessary paperwork through tears.
Every signature felt like another piece of him slipping away.
But I remembered what he had told me.
“If I can't stay, I want something good to come from this.”
So I honored his wish.
Eventually, I stood up to leave the hospital.
I was exhausted.
Empty.
I didn't know how I was supposed to walk out of that building and return home without Mark.
Then someone called my name.
“Wait!”
I turned around.
It was Mark's doctor.
He was walking quickly toward me.
There was something in his hand.
An envelope.
He looked nervous.
Almost frightened.
“Mark Gave Me This Three Weeks Ago.”
The doctor stopped in front of me.
For several seconds, he didn't say anything.
Then he held out the envelope.
“Mark gave me this three weeks ago.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“He was very specific.”
The doctor swallowed.
“He told me you weren't supposed to receive it while he was alive.”