Taylor's Gift (20 page)

One morning when I woke up, I had the usual question of why.
Why
swirls and never stops at an answer. Just like the mornings before it, on this day I moved past the why only to land in more dark thoughts. The cycle was starting again.

I looked above our bedroom door. We'd hung a crucifix on the wall when we moved in years earlier. Though God and I still weren't talking, I focused on the cross and tried to concentrate on my thoughts to get out of the darkness swirling around me, but my mind remained confused. I picked up a book near my bed and opened it—a devotional. I looked at the page, but the words just swam and ran together. I closed the book and looked back at the cross.

I felt so abandoned by God. I was lost and alone, and not even the God of the universe cared.

Somehow, one clear thought made its way out of my fog.
This is all for Your glory.
It was so distinct from everything else swirling in my mind that I said it out loud. “This is all for Your glory.” For someone who wasn't talking to God, it was at once jarring and peaceful at the same time.

Then I said it again. “This is all for Your glory.”

And again. “This is all for Your glory.”

Soon, I was repeating it over and over. Even as I said it out loud I thought,
How can this ever be for Your glory?
But somewhere in the saying of it I believed it, and I started to cry. I didn't have any answers, but for some reason, I had a tiny bit of faith.

“This is all for Your glory!”

The more I opened up to the idea, the more I cried. Soon I was bawling. My faith had been—and still was—shaken, but it wasn't broken.

God and I were talking once again.

Before Taylor died, everything in our house ran by the clock. It had to. Three busy kids, a husband who traveled, and my volunteer work all meant that things had to happen on time and on schedule. Now, I never looked at a clock. I had no concept of time. There were days I felt too weak to shower, or even to simply stand under the hot water, and sometimes those days flowed into each other without my realizing it.

One day, Sandi came to me and said, “Tara, you have got to shower. It's been five days. People are coming over to see you, and you stink.”

I had already lost fifteen pounds and I continued to lose more. I was weak and tired. Tears rolled down my cheeks because she was probably right, and I didn't have the strength to argue—but neither did I have the strength to shower.

She helped me up, and I leaned on her as we walked into the bathroom. She stripped my clothes off me, turned on the shower, and held the door while I stepped in. Once I was under the water, I didn't even have the strength to lift my hands to wash my hair. Even the water was painful as it hit my head and back. Through my tears, I could see Sandi standing on the other side of the door, watching me.

“Oh, honey,” she said. I saw her take a deep breath and blow it out. “Okay, I know this is weird, but I'm doing it.” Then she got in the shower with me and shut the door. “I'm going to wash you and wash your hair,” she said. “I'm going to wash everything but your who-ha.” She grabbed the washcloth and soap, and she kept talking as she washed my arms and legs. “Girl, I'll do everything for you, but I'm not touching that.”

I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't mean to, and I certainly didn't plan to, but I smiled.

And then I chuckled, just a little.

Then I let out a big laugh.

It was my first laugh since Taylor's accident, and it had snuck up on me when I least expected it—in the shower. That moment was important. It helped me to see that there would be smiles and laughter in my future, even if I couldn't see them coming.

J
EFF
K
ARTUS
C
OLORADO

Nothing was ever easy for Jeff.

After two years, the cowboy finally got the kidney and pancreas he'd been waiting for. During the surgery, the doctors thought they had done a successful transplant, but somewhere a blood vessel started to leak. Because he was on blood thinners, Jeff bled out.

He actually died on the operating table.

Fortunately, doctors were able to give him a transfusion—ten pints of blood—that revived him. Because of complications, Jeff was in the hospital for nearly a month—his wife, Vanessa, and his daughter, Brooke, by his side. When he was finally released and able to go home, it was as if he had amnesia; he remembered very little about the two years he'd spent on dialysis.

But other changes were easy to see. The new pancreas cured his diabetes. No longer did he have to eat at certain times, prick his finger to test his blood sugar levels, or take insulin. The results were dramatic.

Living in Colorado, Vanessa and Brooke had seen the news reports on the local television stations about the girl who died while skiing. And while Jeff was in the hospital, one of the medical staff mentioned his donor was a young girl. Jeff had to have received her kidney and pancreas—the timing was too coincidental.

Brooke did a little bit of online detective work and came up with an email address. With Jeff and Vanessa's permission, she carefully crafted a letter telling them how much her dad's life had changed and that while they would love to make contact, she understood if it was too difficult for the family. Then she hit send.

A couple of weeks went by and she hadn't heard anything back. She wondered if she ever would.

Todd

I picked up my phone and scrolled through my list of favorites until I found John Henley, my good friend and boss at CSS. I paused for a moment, then tapped his number. It was one thing to talk to Tara and my friends about quitting my job, but quite another to tell the guy responsible for my paycheck. If he cut me off after this call, I had no backup plan. We had some money in the bank, but we weren't wealthy. It certainly wasn't enough to hold us for long.

John answered, and we made small talk. He asked how Tara and I were. I asked about business and about his wife, Cricket. I knew he could tell I was nervous, so I got right to the point.

“John, there's something I need to tell you,” I started. I took a deep breath and dove in. I thanked him for being a good friend and told him how much I appreciated him as a leader. “I hope we'll still be friends, but I can no longer work for the company.” I explained how Tara still wasn't well. “I can't travel like I used to, or do the job that's required, with all that's going on in my personal life.”

I brought him up to speed about the foundation and all the amazing things that were happening. “John, I am so sorry, but
I need to quit so I can work full-time with the foundation. I've prayed about it, prayed with Tara about it, sought counsel from friends, and everything just seems to be leading me to this decision. I simply feel as if I'd be disobeying God if I didn't do it,” I said. Then I paused to give him a chance to react.

He didn't hesitate. “I knew it before you did.”

Of all the reactions I'd thought he might have, this wasn't one I'd considered.

“Not long after we heard about Taylor, Cricket said to me, ‘You know, Todd's not coming back. You know there is something he has to do.' I agreed, Todd, because I knew it too. I knew.”

Chills ran up my arms as he continued, “I just want you to know we're here, and we're going to support you. We'll be the first company to support your foundation. I don't know what that looks like yet, but we'll talk more next week.”

John had a layover in Dallas the following week. We'd have six hours to sit down and talk face-to-face. I hung up the phone, grateful and excited. I still didn't know how it would all work out, but this was the sign from God I'd been waiting for. It was official: I would work for the foundation full-time.

A week later, John and I met in a Dallas restaurant. “What are your plans?” he asked. John knew me well enough to know how I operated.

“I haven't worked it all out yet,” I said honestly. I didn't divulge that I was trying
not
to plan. I didn't want to get ahead of God.

“Well, Jim and I want to contribute five thousand dollars of start-up money for Taylor's Gift on behalf of CSS. If you need more, let us know. If you don't need it all, then just keep the balance as a donation.”

I couldn't believe it. We'd just filed the paperwork the last few days of April. Now it was early May, and we'd already received our first major donation! It was an unexpected and generous gift. But
John wasn't done. “We'll pay you a full salary through August,” he continued, “and we'll keep you on the company insurance for a year.”

I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. It was beyond anything I could have hoped for or imagined. In addition to giving the first and biggest donation to Taylor's Gift, John had removed my financial worries for the next ninety days. And he'd provided insurance for my family for the next year.

“And, Todd, here's the deal: if in thirty or sixty days you think this was the stupidest decision you've ever made, you'll have a place to work. I'm not sure what your job will be, but we'll figure it out.”

I couldn't wait to tell Tara. I'd asked for one more sign, and God exploded blessings like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I began to see how much better His way was than mine. If I had put together spreadsheets and business plans to make this happen, I probably would have talked myself out of leaving, because, financially, it didn't make sense. But God's math was different from mine. God had helped me stay open to what He was doing—no matter how ridiculous it sounded—and then He revealed himself to me in ways I couldn't have imagined.

I was no longer concerned about failing. With God on my side, how could I?

Now that I was actively seeking God's plan in my life, I saw Him every day. Things other businesses worked
years
to achieve, or other nonprofits one day
hoped
to have, were being handed to us. Various groups began to organize fund-raisers for us. Bracelets, hats, and T-shirts with foundation logos were being printed and sold. The media stories led to more media stories. Friends in the volleyball community offered to host a tournament with proceeds going to the foundation. The first annual 4T (Taylor's volleyball number was 4) tournament was held less than two months after Taylor's death.

The documentary on organ donation went from being a good idea one day to a fully staffed crew the next. While several
documentaries had been done from the perspective of the recipients, we weren't aware of any that had been done from the perspective of the donors. By telling our story, we could encourage others to become organ donors while also honoring Taylor. It was exciting to think about the impact we could have.

Our first fund-raising dinner and kickoff event was being held in June, a week after we got back from our presentation at the Donate Life Film Festival in Hollywood.

We hoped to roll out a new version of our website, one that encompassed everything we'd become since the first website was put out. New opportunities to tell our story and encourage organ donation happened every day, and the number and quality of volunteers continued to climb.

As cofounder of the foundation, Tara needed to be brought up to speed. As my wife, her involvement and approval were important to me. But Tara wasn't ready, and even if she was, she still couldn't handle the pace. “You've got to give me only little pieces of information. I can't handle more than that right now,” she said one day.

I knew she felt as if I were the strong one, but there were times I also felt weak. I missed my wife and my best friend, and I wanted her by my side while these amazing things were occurring. So, we compromised. Once a week we would sit down and I'd update her on the major highlights. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best we could do under the circumstances.

We didn't have much of a relationship at the time. She was at the lowest spot in her life, and I felt like her caretaker. She needed to grieve in her own way, so I didn't want to push her to be a mom or a wife before she was ready. And despite my outward productivity, I was still grieving too. I felt broken. And alone.

Occasionally, I still had fantasies of running away like the one I had in the hospital.
If I took money out of the bank, paid cash for an airline ticket, and flew somewhere, I could disappear off the grid for at least a month before anyone found me.
Then I'd remind myself of all of the reasons I didn't want to run.

Other days I was mad at Tara. I resented that she got taken care of, while I did all the caretaking. At times I couldn't take one more minute of hearing her cry. I would call a friend to come stay with her, and I'd leave the house.

Grief counseling with Judy was helpful, but now I was dealing with more than just the loss of my daughter. I was dealing with a wife who was incapacitated, a loss of identity because I'd quit my job, and the loss of our old lifestyle because we'd had to tighten our financial belt. In the midst of all this change, I would have to rediscover who I was.

For the most part, God kept me so busy I didn't have to think much. In addition to the foundation, my primary job was to take care of my family. While people still came to the house to help Tara out, people no longer spent the night and more of the household responsibility fell on my shoulders. I did the best I could, but sometimes things fell through the cracks.

One day Peyton came home from school and said to Tara, “Will you please start packing my lunches?”

Tara was sitting outside wrapped in a blanket as usual, with that vacant stare on her face. She could barely get out of bed to see the kids off to school; the thought of making lunches every day was beyond her. “Sweetie, Daddy is going to pack your lunch. I can't do it right now,” she said.

“Please!” said Peyton. “You have to! Daddy packed it today, and all he packed was a pickle!”

A
pickle
? I
know
I packed more than a pickle.

At least I thought I did.

There was a lot going on. It was possible I had started packing her lunch but didn't finish. Tara and I knew how pathetic it must have looked to the teachers at school. They probably just shook their heads and said, “That poor family. Bless their hearts.” But it was also a wake-up call for both of us. After that day, I noticed that Tara took some active steps to contain her worst grief to school hours. She also tried to be physically and emotionally present for
Ryan and Peyton when they were home. But for Peyton, the most important change was that Tara started packing lunches again.

Even so, I
know
I packed more than a pickle!

My inbox was chaos central. I was in the midst of turning over client information to my colleagues, updating past clients before I left, and trying to run the foundation. In addition, probably a hundred people were volunteering either with the foundation or at the house, and they communicated with me by email. Daily, we also received emails from strangers who'd heard our story or wanted to share theirs. We learned a lot of people were connected in ways we couldn't imagine, and it seemed they were all willing to use their connections to help us.

In the midst of all of this chaos, I received an email from a young woman named Brooke. I read her email, and everything around me came to a screeching halt. After reading Brooke's email a second time, I knew I had to share it with Tara immediately.

“Tara, this woman says she got my email from Facebook.”

“So? A lot of people do that.”

“I know, but listen to this,” I said, reading, “‘I hope I am not intruding, but I believe my dad has your daughter's kidney and pancreas, and it has saved his life.'”

“Did she say where she's from?” Tara asked, suddenly perking up.

“Colorado.”

“Are you kidding? What else did she say?”

“She got our name from an article, and then went onto Facebook and got my email from there. Listen, she writes, ‘I totally understand if this crosses some kind of line, or if you don't want to touch base, but we just wanted to reach out and thank you because you've touched our lives, and it's made a huge difference for my dad and for all of us.'” The email was so caring and kind that it was obvious she'd thought about it a long time before hitting send.

By now, Tara was standing behind me, reading over my shoulder. She had been working on writing our letter to Donor Alliance to pass on to the recipients, adding a paragraph here or there as she had the emotional strength and physical energy to do it.