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by Lisa Stiles Nance
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There were only three days left until the new millennium. The last Christmas of the last century had come and gone and my husband, Miller, and I were slow dancing in the darkened rec room. Outside, snow tapped on the windows, glistening under the illumination of hundreds of city lights. We were eleven floors above the street, inside one of the country’s most prestigious medical centers. He was attached to a mobile I.V. pole by a narrow plastic tube that entered his chest and transported a life-sustaining drug called dobutamine to the interior of his heart. I clung to his scrawny body, my arms wrapped around his neck, my body pressed as close as I could get, and as we swayed to the music we entered a suspended moment, where we were allowed to forget that time was running out.
Miller had been in the hospital since July and on the transplant list since August. The question that had begun as “When will he get a heart?” had now turned into “Will he live long enough to get a heart?” Our journey towards transplant was about to exceed the average amount of time most recipients wait and our hope was holding on by a golden strand. We had rejoiced with the lucky ones when they received their new organs and we had shared the sorrow of the loved ones of those who couldn’t out wait the wait. By now the wondering, the hoping, the praying had become a way of life as familiar as breathing, yet the waiting was still like a new wound, painful and omnipresent. Little did we know, as we held each other for dear life in the stillness of that rec room that our wait was about to end.
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Faith is about never giving up. Despite all the turmoil, despite all the notions to the contrary, despite scary statistics, worst case scenarios and pessimists who proclaim doom and gloom, faith is a little voice inside of us that says, “That’s not going to happen to you. Just don’t give up.”
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I was insulated for the 18-plus years of my marriage. I had a partner to lean on and share the trials and tribulations of raising two children and paying bills and keeping a house and all the other stuff life is made of. I was living in a cushy environment that didn't expect me to make too many big decisions alone. There was always someone else to bounce ideas off. And there are thousands, probably millions, of women just like me. But suddenly, in one remarkable instant, my comfortable existence was obliterated. Fear and doubt slid under the door. Anger and sorrow seeped into the woodwork. But I learned to deal with it. And now I want to help others in the same or other crisis situation s learn how to deal with their expereinces too.
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The Last Kiss
One day we'll kiss
for the last time
and we won't even know it.
We won't know
our time together
is over.
We'll think it's just like
any other day-
just another kiss,
in a lifetime of kisses.
We won't savor it,
pressing firmly
or fervently
or try to hold on
as long as we can.
Because we won't know
it's the last
kiss.
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