Paarth Madan

A medium to iterate on my own thoughts.

Organ Donor

Posted at — Jan 21, 2021

A letter addressed to my name laid on top of the counter.

As my hand wrapped around the side of the envelope, I learned it was home to a small rectangular card. This made sense as I was expecting my driver’s license to be mailed in.

As it turns out, it was.

The new license was the same as my current one, only it had one small amendment.

It included my motorcycle classification.

I learned the envelope was home to more than just my license. It included a large pamphlet and an organ donor permission form.

License in hand,

I dream of the approaching summer,
cruising down the street on a motorcycle,
feeling the wind on my back.

Organ donor sheet in hand,

I dream of that same summer,
scraped up against the side of the road,
feeling hot asphalt on my back.

I thought, it’s interesting how context really skews expectation.

The organ donor sheet reminds me of my guaranteed death.

I casually asked my Mom whether she thinks I should allow my organs to be harvested, not realizing the seriousness the question holds.

She was taken back as I imagine she imagined a scenario where I died.

Death is omnipresent.

Someone died right now.

Another person died now.

Another person died now.

We all know this to be true – and yet it’s so difficult to grasp. Why is this?

I don’t have troubles talking about my death, but perhaps that’s because I’ve come to terms with it.

Either way, before that day comes – I have some forms to fill out, and some bikes to ride.

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