Today is my 17th second birthday: it’s been 17 years since I took my last breath with the lungs I was born with.
Every dawn brings a new day I wouldn’t have had were it not for my donor – and were it not for their family, who chose in their grief to give others a second chance that their parent, child, sibling didn’t get. I feel honoured every day and I hope I continue to honour them in turn.
However, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there’s something about today that feels different and I’m not sure why it’s this particular year. All of the usual thoughts and feelings of joy, gratitude and celebration are there, strong as ever, but there is something else layered on top: I miss people.
When we held Laughter For Life II seven years ago, we worked out that I’d lost about 20 friends, a rough average of one every two years of my life. After my friend Kirstie died, I simply disconnected from the CF and transplant community; I couldn’t do it any more, it hurt too much. And for the first time since I was a teenager more than five years passed without losing anyone.
Grief behaves in mysterious ways. Like an ocean, it can sit calm and placid then twist without warning and begin to roll and roil, then thunder and crash, terrible and terrifying. Moments after you think you’re fine, you suddenly find yourself drowning again.
That’s where I am today, being buffeted by the malevolent seas of grief. I miss my friends.
I miss getting random texts from Emily about whatever scheme she was about to rope me into. I miss logging onto social media hoping to see comments and posts from the Jesses or Tor. I miss jumping into treatment discussions with Toria on the message boards back when they were polite and supportive. I miss getting CDs in the post from Anders as he tried gamely to further my musical education. I miss all the hours of laughter as our collective humour blackened in the face of unimaginable, unstoppable forces rising against us.
Today’s a day for celebration. I’m still able to enjoy it for the wonder it is. I’m still here and I’m here because of one person who I can never thank. Even when I feel unworthy, I’m honoured by the life they’ve given me.
But I also have a deep sadness in my soul that I can’t celebrate this with my friends. And I’m reminded of the lyrics from Les Miserables:
Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone.
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken,
There’s a pain goes on and on.