Giving Life

In the summertime, it was a sweltering day. In preparation for a boat journey with my friend Patie and her dog, my father and I were getting everything ready. What happened that bright, sunny day? That's what happened when I got the phone call.

At that point, I had just finished getting ready for the day by putting on my bathing suit and shorts with my tank top, and packing my bag with sunscreen and other necessities. To look for my father, I dashed inside their bedroom. He was sobbing when I spoke with him on the phone. My father had never before shed a tear in front of me. My stomach churned. We don't know what might have happened.

I overheard him remark, "Max, I'm really sorry." Momentarily struck me. I was aware of Muzie's death.

For many years, Max has been a close friend to my father. His daughter, Muzie, was diagnosed with a rare condition that primarily affected her physical health. Her brain was functioning normally. As a child, she was aware of her own uniqueness and the difficulties she faced. A few years ago, she confided in her father about her desire to pass away and then return in a different body. She was content despite the fact that she was unable to lead a normal life.

We spent a lot of time together as children, Muzie and I. We grew apart as we matured. I was in the Midwest and she was in New York. Muzie was forced to reside in a hospital in Virginia when she was ten years old because of an illness. Max gave us her hospital phone number about eight months before she passed away, and we spoke at least twice a week until the end. Suzie was always giddy to chat to us and eager to hear about all I had done or was planning to do. She was really curious about my daily activities and diet. She lived through me, in a way.

We made arrangements to travel to New York for her funeral as soon as we learned of her passing. A Beanie Babies were exchanged between us when she was still alive. It was the last thing I bought for her before she passed away, and since I never got around to sending it to her, I brought it to place in her coffin.

Her funeral was unlike any other I'd ever attended. After the casket was lowered, each of us placed a shovelful of earth on top of her body. In the past, I have cried so much that I've felt weak. Because of the tears, my cheeks were sore. After picking up the shovel, my entire body trembled. I was relieved to complete the task, though.

Muzie and I started talking on the phone a few months ago, and at first I thought it would be a hassle for me. She taught me so much. In return, she gave me more than I could ever hope to repay her. I'll never forget her or the conversations we had. I've learned that I can't take anything for granted, especially my health and the gift of life.