I Talk to My Donated Heart

I never really know what to call it.

I don’t know anything about the donor. I don’t know who they were. But sometimes I put my hand on my chest and talk to it.

And somehow I’ve circled around to calling it you.

Because if I were standing in front of my donor, that’s what I would say.

You saved my life.

You keep me alive every single day. You keep me kind. You keep me grounded. You keep me hopeful. You’ve given me a different understanding of what living—and life—should be about.

You’ve given me more than anybody should ever have to give another person.

So thank you.

Maybe talking to a heart sounds crazy. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t care.

It’s Saturday morning, I’m sitting here thinking about it, and I wanted to write it down before I forgot.

Me and you.

We’re still here.