Waiting for a heart transplant teaches you a lot about time. It teaches you how slow it can feel. How fragile it can be. How precious every single moment becomes.
One of the hardest parts of this journey is not thought about often. This is what happens while life keeps moving around you. You are “stuck”, but life goes on.
While I’ve been waiting for a heart… I’ve also been saying goodbye.
The Grief That Arrives During the Wait
When you’re waiting for a transplant, you’re already living in a strange emotional space. Part hope, part fear, part exhaustion. Your life is measured in lab results, appointments, and days where you feel stronger or weaker. But grief doesn’t pause just because you’re already carrying something heavy.
In the middle of this waiting season, I’ve lost people I love deeply.
My mom.
My grandma.
My great grandma.
Other family members whose absence still echoes through the places they once filled and the hearts they will forever remain in.
Each loss feels like another piece of the world shifting under my feet. They have felt like quicksand, sinkholes, and full-blown earthquakes.
Losing My Mom
Losing your mom changes something inside you. It’s a pain like no other. Some may say they understand your pain. However, unless they have lost their own mother, they cannot truly understand this pain. This pain sits with me all day, every day.
She is the one who knew my voice before anyone else. The one who knew my story before it was even written. The one who could read my face and know exactly what I needed. During a season where I’m already searching for stability in my own body, losing someone who represented that kind of grounding hits differently.
There is a certain kind of comfort, of safety that only a mother brings. When she’s gone, the world feels different in a way that is hard to explain.
As I walk through this transplant journey, there are moments I wish more than anything that I could call her. There are times I want to curl up on the couch. I want to rest my head on her leg as she reassures me it will all be ok.
I want to tell her what the doctors are saying. I want to hear her tell me everything is going to be okay. I want to feel the kind of reassurance only she could give. I have no doubt she would have been sitting beside me in every waiting room if she could.
My mom’s passing was years ago but it feels like just yesterday. I will share more about that at a later date. Honestly, at this time it is not something I am ready to share.
The Loss of My Grandma
Grandmas carry a special kind of love. The quiet, steady kind that holds generations together. My grandma was one of those people who could make everything feel safe and rooted. Her presence was a constant in a world that sometimes felt uncertain. Weirdest thing about this, I spent years with absolutely no contact with my grandma. I was grown when I finally connected with her. This happened after I had children of my own. I was able to develop a relationship with her at that point without outside influences. This also came at a time that we both were lost in the sadness of losing my mom. Therefore, her presence was needed more than ever. When I lost her, it felt like losing another piece of home.
The morning I got the call lives vividly in my mind. It was the morning of December 21, 2018. This day is significant because it is the day after my birthday. Leading up to my grandma’s passing, she was inpatient at the hospital for quite a while. Every day, I would take my kids to school. Then, I would go sit at her bedside until it was time to pick them back up from school. Some days we would talk, share stories, laugh and sometimes even cry. Then there were days when I would sit alone in her room. Other times, I waited in the surgery waiting room for the outcome of her most recent surgery. There were times when I would sit in her room while she slept, a sense of peace in those moments for her.
On my birthday, I spent the day with Grandma as usual. She asked me on multiple occasions what day it was and if it was still my birthday. I think she wished me happy birthday more times that day then she had in my entire life. At the time, it felt like a way of her making up for all those lost years.
The following morning, I received a phone call from my uncle, very early in the morning. He said, the doctors said she didn’t have much time. I was dressed, teeth brushed, and out the door in less than five minutes. The drive from my house to the hospital easily takes 40 minutes from point A to point B- on a good day. I was at the hospital and at her bedside in 23 minutes. The roads were very empty with it being so early. Someone was looking down or it was divine intervention that made the drive a quick one. I did not hit a single red light, did not get a ticket. In that moment, a ticket was the least of my concerns. I had already lost my great grandma and my mom, losing her was going to hit hard. She was the last female above me in our family- her passing meant I was next in line (family wise).
At her bedside it was evident she wasn’t going to be with us much longer. I made a few calls to family to let them know, so they could come say their goodbyes. I stood, just holding her hand. There were moments she would open her eyes, and we could see the light we once knew. In between the “death rattle”, she would try to speak. Five minutes, maybe less before she passed on, she asked me what day it was. When I told her it was December 21st, she asked me if it was still my birthday. I told her “No, my birthday was yesterday”. She said, “Promise?”. I told her “Yes, today is not my birthday, I Promise.” I told her I loved her and watched as two tears ran down her face. Moments later, her time of death was announced by the nurse.
In that moment, it hit me that the three generations above me were gone. I had to witness it all. That sits differently. It is a pain I would not wish on anyone, not even someone I dislike. It is a pain that no one should have to endure.
Saying Goodbye to Great Grandma
My great grandma fought a long and difficult battle before she passed. She was 95 years old. She had seen many of her friends pass away. More significantly, she watched her husband and son pass away. Losing my grandfather, her son- is something no parent should have to go through. Watching someone you love go through that kind of fight changes you internally. You see strength in ways most people never notice. You see courage in the smallest moments. You learn that love doesn’t disappear just because someone leaves this earth.
Her passing reminded me how fragile life truly is. It also showed me how fiercely people can love even in the middle of pain.
All she wanted was to go home to her home for when the time came. We knew it was only a matter of time. She was on hospice. They were releasing her to live out every last moment in the comfort of her home. They told us it would only be a day or two. We knew what to expect. It didn’t make the pain any less. I still remember the stupid dent in the wall. At the exact moment the gurney hit the wall, our eyes met. I witnessed a semblance of a smile while tears of joy fell down her face. As the paramedics transported her on the gurney into her room they hit a wall. Her home, built in the 50s had smaller, more narrow hallways. It wasn’t the easiest to get her in her room, but they did it with so much care. Once they left, it was like we could see a sense of peace come over her.
It was midnight and I had just administered another dose of her medicine. At that point, it was scheduled every two hours so that alone tells you how much rest she was getting. I went out on to the back patio to breathe for a minute and talk with my dad. Once I attempted to open the door to go back in, I realized it somehow locked on us. Here I was at midnight in a retirement community walking around a house, trying to find an unlocked door. Thankfully it was in a retirement community, so no one was watching and calling the cops. I walked around the front of the house and lightly tapped on her bedroom window. My mom was laying in the room with her. She heard my knock and unlocked the back door for my dad and me to go back inside. Again, there was some type of divine intervention. It caused us to get locked outside. My mom had to leave the room my great grandma was in. Just a few short minutes later my mom asked for Tylenol for a headache that had been getting increasingly worse. I gathered the medicine and water, and she took them. She left my grandma for just a few short minutes. Upon returning to my great grandma’s room, we heard my mom cry out. We rushed to the room and saw my mom, in full tears, crying- willing my great grandma back to life. I was the one who had to call time of death. I will NEVER forget the exact moment I was asked for it. My great grandma was the first of the three “before me” generations to pass. She is the one that my kids, husband and I was very close to. We spent lots of time at her house when she was still well and even more time with her as she became ill. My mom and I would clean, cook, and take her shopping at least once a week. Losing her was another thing that broke me just a little more than I already was.
Grieving While Fighting to Live
Grief and waiting for a transplant share something in common. They both force you to sit with uncertainty. They both remind you that life is precious and fragile at the same time.
There are days where I’m processing my own medical reality while also carrying the ache of people who are no longer here to walk beside me. Days where I wish I could tell them how the journey is going. Days where I wonder what advice they would give. Days where their absence feels especially loud.
Carrying Them With Me
Even though they are no longer here physically, I carry pieces of them with me every single day.
Their strength.
Their love.
Their voices.
Their memories.
And in many ways, they are still part of this journey. They are in the prayers whispered before appointments. In the courage it takes to keep fighting. In the quiet reminders to appreciate every moment we are given.
Love That Outlives Loss
Grief doesn’t mean the love is gone. In fact, it proves how deep that love runs.
My mom.
My grandma.
My great grandma.
Every family member I’ve lost during the waiting.
They are still part of my story. Still part of the strength that carries me forward. Still part of the reason I keep choosing hope.
Even in the middle of loss… Even in the middle of waiting… The Beat Goes On!
The Beat Goes On 
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