Did you know that even for someone whose identification indicates them as an organ donor, permission must be given by the family member or other person entrusted with making decisions at such times? Which is why I implore you - have those conversations now. Do it for yourself. Do it for the person you love and give them the final gift of knowing that their wishes will be honored in any way possible (I'm still trying to figure out how I can scatter a bit of Trent's ashes in Disney World without getting arrested or banned for life). Some day, when the big decisions need to be made, they can be done with the confidence that our loved one is meeting their end on their terms, and there'll be less possibility of fear, bewilderment, or guilt for those left behind.
Now on to my stories. The evening of Trent's passing, I had already notified various friends and family as to what had happened. I decided to text some friends and advise them to tell their children so that mutual friends wouldn't accidentally break the news to the kids, which would be a terrible shock. So they went ahead and told the kids, who were all very upset. Now, this family includes a pair of identical twins, Noelle and Natalia, who had a relationship with us that was not like those they had with other people. For some reason, each twin picked out one of us as theirs. I'm absolutely certain that this didn't involve any discussion, it just happened. Trent belonged to Natalia, and I belonged to Noelle. I'm using the past tense simply because of Trent, those girls and their siblings and parents still have my heart forever.
Shortly after I texted their parents, I received a message asking if the family could call me. They needed to talk to Katrina to make sure what they were being told was true.. I girded myself and said of course, knowing that I had to do what I could to help them deal with this loss. My phone rang with a video call, and I was shown the family members in various states of distress. There were many tears being shed, but I managed to hold mine back. Suddenly, the just-turned-five Natalia had her face right in front of the phone, with her twin standing behind her. With an angry look on her face, Natalia asked, "Katrina!!! Did Trent die?" I very calmly told her that yes, Trent had died and I was very sad, just like she was. In the background, Noelle chimed in. "But you didn't die." I assured her that no, I didn't. During the entire call, Noelle was making the rounds of all her family members, soothing them and passing out tissues. It melted my heart to see this sweet little girl being strong and taking care of her family.
A couple of days later, I knew I had to make an appointment to speak with someone at a funeral home. I had already done some research online and sort of knew what I wanted done, but the formalities must be observed. Maybe that's a good thing. It gives us the opportunity to step out of our grief for a short time while we're required to attend to business. On my good days, I'm not a huge fan of speaking on the phone. If you're reading this and worrying that I don't feel good about it when I'm talking to you, just stop it right there. If I take the step of talking to you, it's because I want to. And the worst is calling total strangers about something really important.
On Monday morning, I found myself nervous at the idea of making the call about Trent. Knowing how effective it can be to mentally switch gears, I decided to look at Facebook for a few minutes before making the call. I must insert two facts here. One, I had the media volume turned up on the phone, which I don't usually do as a general rule. Two, somehow the auto play function had gotten turned on in my Facebook feed. In the midst of memes and recipes and other stuff, a concert video began to play. It was Willie Nelson singing Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I'm Gone. It was one of those truly perfect moments, one that makes you believe that the person who is gone is telling you to just chill and have a laugh or two. When I called the funeral home I was relaxed enough to relate the story. When I was there a couple of days later, I learned that the delightful woman who helped me loved the story so much that later the same day, she played the song while she and her coworker were transporting someone in the hearse. You know, you just have to laugh sometimes, and I think the people who leave us behind would like to see us living joyfully. Or, as I often say, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!
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