April 13, 1985

On Sunday, it will be Kyle's 23rd birthday. The picture above is of Kyle, minutes old, in the arms of his dad. Kyle was two weeks overdue. As a boy he used to laugh and say that he didn't want to come out because he was so comfortable in there. The doctor got concerned, so he gave Gear and I some articles to read about inducing and told us to talk it over at dinner and then if we were comfortable about it, to just head to the hospital. So late in the evening about 11pm, the nurses started to induce labor. That kicked things off and eventually I had about 10 hours of hard labor (less than with Miranda), but then pushed for 3 hours before the doctor said he was going to have to perform a Caesarean.

Kyle Campbell Whitham McLeod was born at about 6:36 pm. He was 22 inches long and weighed 9 pounds, 15 and 1/4 ounces. We were pretty impressed with that weight, but the same day at the Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital a 13 pound baby girl was born. If Kyle got to be 6'8" I wonder how big that girl is today. He had the biggest hands and the longest fingers and Gear said, "Piano playing power forward." Kyle was so wide awake under the lights in the nursery that the nurses had to take him into their dark station for him to get some sleep. Ky's big sister, Miranda, welcomed him home a few days later and just adored him. With our boy, our little family felt complete.

On Ky's birthday, I'll be up north in Cupertino attending a memorial event by the Musculoskeletel Tissue Foundation. There will be recipients there and there will be a slide show of all of last year's donors. It may seem a little odd to be doing this; but I'm feeling drawn up north again and I'm not put off by public grieving rituals. At least I'll be crying with a bunch of other people for a change, in a place where crying is expected. And I think it might be harder to be at Forest Lawn, which is where I'd be otherwise.

But I will celebrate a little bit at Forest Lawn tomorrow, before I leave town. I'm bringing some sandalwood incense to burn and a little battery run speaker (that I had given Ky) to play some reggae, and I have a tiny little bottle of bubble stuff--I'll probably leave that there for any of you who will be visiting him. I'll bring some flowers of course. It's odd not having food around when thinking about celebrating a birthday, particularly Kyle's, but of course you can't leave food around a grave, what with ants and coyotes.

So if you're in town and free on Sunday, the 13th, consider giving Ky a visit or-- wherever you are--maybe raise a glass to Kyle and say a few words. If Ky were here he would be partying: with music and friends and libation and laughter. And it would be all good, wouldn't it.

Dearest boy, I love you and miss you and carry you in my thoughts and heart every moment. Happy Birthday, Kyle.

Why the mailbox is dangerous

There's a whole lot about the donor world that I don't know. Obviously, there's no way to know about it unless you have been unfortunate enough to have a loved one die, but fortunate enough for that loved one to be young and healthy and die with organs intact--and for the death to be sudden but not so sudden that he cannot be rushed to the hospital and sustained on life support.

In my 6 months experience of being the mother of a donor, I know that there are two types of donations: organ and tissue/muscle/bone/etc. I get them mixed up. I get a newsletter every so often from one of them, with lots of information about grieving and what other families have gone through. And then, like last week, I got the wonderful gift of a recipient letter. (I've written back to him, BTW.)

But there's more: like the letter that came about an annual memorial to honor and remember the donors. There's one in March or maybe April up north in Hayward. Gearey expressed not being interested at all, definitely not wanting to become a part of some sort of movement. His grieving for Kyle is a very private thing. I'm sure to Gear it seems almost disrespectful to Kyle to meet up with a bunch of strangers. I don't know why, but I don't feel that way. I understand him completely, but I'm just different. Like on New Year's Day when I saw the Rose Parade float honoring organ donors and accompanied by recipients, I wanted Kyle's face on that balloon.

And then there was today. Another mail box surprise. I get a card addressed to Gearey but sent to my address. It's from the tissue & the eye bank people. It's a Save the Date card. For an annual donor remembrance. It says, "Invitation to follow."

Another event, I think. Should I bother to tell Gear?

And then I see the small calendar on the card.
There's a date circled with a red heart.
The event will be held on 13th of April.
Kyle will turn 23 on that day.

Except I'm supposed to say, "He would have been 23." We only count the years one actually completes, don't we. Yet I will have been his mother for 23 years on April 13th. His dying won't erase that. And he will be 23, except that he won't be here to party with us.

I wonder how many years I will be drawn to and fearful of the contents of the mailbox.

I just want my boy back.
I just want my boy back.
I just want my boy back.