Chapter 1 - Clementine and Cecilia
My Husband Became an Organ Donor — Right After He Died, His Doctor Chased Me Down the Hospital Hallway and Said, "There's Something He Made Me Promise Not to Give You Until Now"
"Rachel, wait!"
I kept walking. If I stopped, someone would say Julian's name again. Someone would touch my arm and give me that careful, helpless look people give a woman who is eight months pregnant and has just lost her husband.
"Rachel, please."
I finally turned. Dr. Ellison was hurrying toward me, a plain envelope in his hand.
"Julian gave me this three weeks ago."
I stared at it. "What is it?"
"There's something he made me promise not to give you until now."
My stomach tightened. "Why?"
He looked exhausted. "He said you'd understand when you needed it."
That sounded exactly like Julian. Infuriatingly vague, right to the end.
I took the envelope. My name was written across the front in his messy handwriting. Rachel. Nothing more.
Dr. Ellison hesitated. "He also said you don't have to open it today."
I almost laughed. "How generous of him."
He gave me a sad smile. Then I walked away carrying the last secret my husband had ever kept from me.
Two months earlier, secrets hadn't been part of our marriage. Baby names had.
"Absolutely not," I told Julian.
"You rejected it too fast."
"You suggested Clementine."
We were sitting on our porch, his hand resting on my six-months-pregnant belly.
"It's a strong name."
"For an orange."
Julian laughed, and even then his laugh caught slightly in his chest. "Fine. Cecilia."
I looked at him. "Cecilia?"
"My grandmother used to sing that song with the name in it."
"You told me your grandmother sang everything terribly."
"Still counts."
"That is not a reason to name a human being."
"It made you smile."
I looked down at my stomach. "Cecilia."
The baby kicked beneath his hand. His eyebrows lifted. "See? She voted."
"She kicked you."
"Strong approval."
I put my hand over his. "Cecilia." This time, the name felt different. It felt like our daughter's name.
We'd wanted her for years. Then, when I was six months along, Julian got seriously ill. The doctors told us he likely had no more than three months. There was a real chance he'd never live long enough to meet her.
One evening, back on the porch, Cecilia kicked so hard my shirt moved. Julian watched for a moment, then rested his hand right over the spot.
"If they can use anything when the time comes, I want to donate."
I turned to him. "Please don't talk about dying while she's kicking."
"That's exactly why I have to, sweetheart."
"Julian."
His thumb moved slowly across my stomach. "If I can't watch her grow up, maybe somebody else can get more time with their family."
"Don't make dying sound noble. I'm already angry enough."
His eyes met mine. "I'm scared too, Rach."
My throat tightened. "I don't know how to do this without you."
"You don't have to know yet."
"What if I never know?"
He was quiet a moment. "Then you make it up as you go."
"That's a terrible plan."
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"It's the only honest one I've got."
I hated that answer. I hated it for weeks.
