my last blog or newsletter (say “Amen” here, please!) Also, I’m well and hopefully not heaven-bound any time soon (that is in the Lord’s hands.)
Robert N. Test’s poem, To Remember Me, captured my heart.
If nothing else, it caused me to be more thankful than ever for daily blessings I have been given: sight, hearing, touch, thinking and feelings, and movement. Please read the entire poem whether or not you are or want to be a donor.
… At a certain moment, a doctor will determine
that my brain has ceased to function and that, for all intents and purposes, my life has stopped. When that happens, do not attempt to instill artificial life into my body by the use of a machine, and don’t call this my death bed. Let this be called the Bed of Life, and let my body be taken from it to help others lead fuller lives.
Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby’s face or love in the eyes of a woman.
Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play.
Give my kidneys to one who depends on a machine to exist.
Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.
Explore every corner of my brain. Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.
If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weaknesses and all prejudice against my fellow man.