𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Part 5 ~ Letter For Her

Michael's Point Of View ~ 

I'm alone. The only thing accompanying me is this blank piece of paper and a single pen that sits in front of me on the table. Ella is at work. I take a sip of water . . a deep breath. He told me. He warned me, and he was right to do so. He said he didn't wish to answer the questions I asked him right before my surgery. I was far too weak. He was concerned that it would've been too much for me . . for my already failing heart. I was so shocked . . we both were, Ella and I. To find out I have a 17 year olds heart. The whole thing was sudden, incredibly unexpected. I can't even imagine what that must have been like. His poor family. 

His poor mother. 

I look at the piece of paper that Dr Wells gave me when he visited yesterday. His name, her name and their home address is what is written on the piece of paper. After so long of just having a single name . . I finally have the rest of the puzzle. I know what I must do. But I don't know what to say. I don't know how to start it, where to even begin. Perhaps, I could start by introducing myself. I pick up the pen, ink spelling out her name before my introduction is made. I tell her my story. I tell her how I have been sick . . very sick. Especially for the past year. I tell her that I have needed a new heart until I finally received one. 

It was her son's. 

I feel as though I can't even begin to say thank you. I can't even imagine what it must have felt like to loose a child that way. To then make a decision after such an unexpected and distressing situation. It was a decision that she didn't have to make. She could've said no, keeping his heart in his body . . where it belongs, I feel. But she didn't. She agreed, with her eyes full of tears I'm certain of that. After it happened, Dr Wells told me that he sat her down, telling her about me. That I was in desperate need of a heart. 

I was dying. And I needed help. 

And she did just that. She helped me in the most unselfish way possible. She got me back to my normal self, got me back to my life, a life that she saved. Her home address is what I can't seem to take my eyes off of, however. She lives not too far away from me at all. But I know this letter is what I must do first. Showing up on her doorstep unannounced, to me seems like such an invasion. That by writing this letter to her . . it's showing the respect that she deserves. Giving her the time she needs. I wonder how much she knows about me. Does she know my name? I'm sure she does. And she must know about me being incredibly sick. But that must be all. I still feel it's the right thing to do to introduce myself though. Telling her more of my story . . to give her some understanding that what she has done for me, is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me. I tell her that I do wish to meet her . . one day. When she is ready. Telling her she can take as much time as she needs until that day. 

I sign it, my full name printed. 

Leaving my home address too, just in case. 

I fold it. Placing it into an envelop. 

I stand up, walking with the letter in my hand. I pick up my house keys, my wallet and my phone. I walk out of the door and outside. The mail box before me now. I look down at the letter in my hands. I hope this letter finds her well. This letter is for her. I know it will bring her tears, yet more tears. But it's something I must do . . something I have wanted to do the day I was told a new heart was given to me. The day Dr Wells told me his name . . the name of the young man that gave me a second chance. Because I know I didn't have very long left to go. I feel as the wind blows, getting more stronger by the second. It sounds crazy. But I believe it's him. He's telling me to drop in the mail box. To seperate with this letter because he knows even when up there . . that it'll bring people together. 

I drop the letter in. 

Letting go of it completely. I hear as it falls to the bottom. My heart. My heart . . it's beating. Harder and faster. I can feel the strength in it. It's like he knows that he is going back home. As if he knows that this very letter will lead him back to his family, to his mother. He knows what is going to happen. He knows his mother . . he must know that she will contact me. In time. I begin to walk back home. It's not a far walk. Not at all. I can't believe that after so long of wishing I had her information . . it has finally come true. I should give Dr Wells a call. He told me to once I posted the letter. 

He said he would love to be there too. 

To experience what he has also very much been apart of. As I walk, I look around. Taking in everything around me. I hear the sound of many birds, the laughter of people as they sit at local coffee shops to catch up with friends. Oh laughter . . that is something I haven't heard in so long. It's something that I haven't even done myself. Wow. How my mind never thought of doing that. It knew that I was so sick and that laughter was never a thought for me. I was scared. I admit. I didn't want to leave. To leave my family . . to leave Ella. But today, I think about it. To laugh, to smile . . and truely mean it. I am so thankful. I can't even describe it. It brings tears to my eyes . . that is how it makes me feel. 

I look up at the sky. 

It's so blue today, with only a few clouds. I know he is up there. He is and he's looking down at me. Knowing for sure what I have just done. I do it. I smile as look up at the sky. I wish he could tell me when I should expect to hear back from his mother. But I just need to be patient. Well, I am quite good at doing that. I have been so patient as I waited for a new heart for a whole year. To find out it came from a young man. An incredible young man at that. 

"Thank you, mate . . " 

"Thank you for what you have given me . . " I whisper. 

to be continued.