The idea of having an organ transplant was spooky. I wondered if having someone else’s tissue in my body would cause mixed signals being sent to my brain and result in behavior changes. If my new heart came from an executed murderer would I develop sudden urges to slit the throats of snotty clerks or moms who couldn’t control their screaming children? If it came from a preacher would I cease being agnostic and start praying all the time? What if it came from a hooker? Would I be high class or a street walker? One of my worst fears was that I’d turn into a racist bigot instead of being a live and let live kind of girl. I had so many reservations it was tempting to just check out quietly and hope I’d made enough of a mark in the world that someone would remember me. My doctor kept telling me that all I would feel is better, but my dreams were still filled with weird scenarios.
Two days before the surgery was scheduled I decided to let chance decide whether I went through with it or not. I made myself a cocktail, then sat at the dining room table with a deck of cards. I shuffled them, then covered my eyes with one hand and cut the deck with the other. If the card showing at the bottom of the cut was red, I’d do it. If it was black, I’d call the crematory and confirm my reservation. There was a side of me that wanted to go two out of three to make sure, but waffling wasn’t the true me. Clear cut decisions had been the mantra of my life. Since you’re reading this story it’s obvious the card was red and I went through with it.
At first, everything seemed the same and I felt the doctor had been right. Lately, however, I’ve come to believe my organ donor had to have been a hippie. There are mornings that I wake up, then go to the garden and put flowers in my hair. I recently traded in my Subaru for an old Volkswagen van with tie-dyed curtains. The other day I went to the fabric store and bought some paisley cloth to make a kaftan to wear with my peace symbol necklace. I walk around humming songs about world peace, smiling on my brother, and everybody getting along right now. While the world devolves into a war torn ghetto filled with hatred and prejudice, I give people hugs and tell them I love them.
It's sad to think that so many people vote to be under the thumb of separatists and have the personal freedoms of others restricted by draconian laws, but the heart I received is filled with hope and the belief that humans are not inherently evil. It beats with the joy of watching birds fly into a magnificent sunset or hearing the ocean kiss the sand of a windswept beach. It tells my eyes to see the beauty in all things while understanding their dual nature. It tells my mind to not dwell in darkness and ignore the wonders of light, color, and diversity. It cannot accept the sadness of a world shackled by lack of acceptance and constricting agendas. That heart fills my veins with a life brimming with happiness and the possibility of cohabitation. It sings songs composed by a soul fueled by love. It seeks to share and build, rather than hoard and destroy. Whoever left this world and passed their heart to me has earned my undying gratitude. Hopefully, I can use it to be an instrument of positive change and compose a symphony of peace, love, and joy, transcending the passage of time.