Mark died on a rainy Tuesday with my hand wrapped around his.
Afterward, the donation team explained what depended on medical suitability. I answered questions and signed what needed signing.
Still, I let him keep the secret.
Whenever someone asked about Mark’s wishes, I gave the same answer.
“Yes. This is what he wanted.”
Then Dr. Rivers stopped me in the hallway.
***
At home that night, I opened the envelope.
Inside was a flash drive and a folded note.
“Yes. This is what he wanted.”
“Please don’t watch this because you miss me.
Watch it if somebody makes you doubt me, Sally.
And more importantly, if someone makes you doubt yourself.”
I read it twice.
“You’re dead,” I told the note. “You don’t get to give instructions anymore.”
Cecelia kicked hard under my ribs.
“Watch it if somebody makes you doubt me, Sally.”
I looked down.
“Your father is annoying me from beyond the grave. He deserved that kick.”
I put the flash drive away.
***
Two days later, Violet came over.
I found her in Cecelia’s nursery refolding a pink blanket.
“He deserved that kick.”
“Violet.”
“Did they take everything?”
I stopped in the doorway.
“What?”
“From Mark.”
“They’ll only use what can be donated.”
“Did they take everything?”
She gripped the blanket.
“And you’re fine with that?”
“He wanted it.”
“I asked about you.”
“I’m not fine.”
“You’re acting fine.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I asked about you.”
She looked at me.
“His heart. His skin. His eyes. All of those things are going to strangers.”
“They don’t transplant someone’s whole eyes.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Corneal tissue can be donated.”
She laughed bitterly.
“All of those things are going to strangers.”
“Does the nicer phrase make it easier?”
“No.”
Her mouth trembled.
“How am I supposed to be okay knowing something that belonged to my son is walking around with strangers?”
“Because Mark was okay with it.”
“You agreed with this.”
“Does the nicer phrase make it easier?”
“Yes. That doesn’t mean it was easy, Violet.”
She looked at my stomach.
“You still get part of him.”
My hand moved over Cecelia without thinking.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t put her in this.”
“You still get part of him.”
Violet walked out without answering.
***
At Mark’s memorial, she went further.
An uncle hugged me near the flowers.
“Mark was helping people right until the end.”
His aunt nodded.
Violet walked out.
“You must be proud.”
“Proud?”
Violet had appeared behind us.
I turned.
“Violet.”
“She doesn’t get to be proud of this.”
“You must be proud.”
Everyone went quiet.
“Mark could barely walk across a room,” she continued. “But somehow we’re supposed to believe he calmly chose all of this?”
“He did.”
“You agreed to it.”
“Yes, Violet. I gave my husband his dying wish.”
“Mark could barely walk across a room.”
Her eyes filled.
“At least you’re honest about something.”
I could have ended the argument.
Instead, I said, “We’re not doing this here.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because we’re here for Mark.”
“We’re not doing this here.”
I walked away.
I thought silence was kindness.
By that evening, it had turned into something else.
Mark’s aunt stopped me near the door.
“Was he taking anything that affected his judgment?”
I walked away.
“What?”
“Violet said maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Mark knew exactly what he wanted.”
“I’m only asking.”
“No. You’re asking whether I pushed my dying husband into something he didn’t want.”
She looked away.
“I’m only asking.”
***
That night, I went straight to Cecelia’s nursery.
I opened my laptop.
Then I plugged in the flash drive.
Mark appeared on the screen.
He looked thinner than I remembered.
“If you’re watching this because you miss me, turn it off.”
I went straight to Cecelia’s nursery.
I covered my mouth.
“You don’t get to boss me around.”
He shifted in his chair.
“I’m serious, Sal.”
“Mom asked me not to donate.”
“I’m serious, Sal.”
I leaned closer.
“She asked more than once. Then she asked whether the decision was really mine or yours.”
My stomach dropped.
“I told her it was mine.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I told her it was mine.”
“She can’t stand the idea that strangers might get something from me after I’m gone.”
He paused.
“I understand why. But grief doesn’t get to turn you into the villain.”
My breath caught.
“Don’t protect me by letting her hurt you. And don’t let Cecelia grow up thinking her father was too weak to make his own choices.”
“Grief doesn’t get to turn you into the villain.”
I paused the video.
“You knew.”
I stood.
“You knew she might do this, and you didn’t tell me.”
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“You knew.”
“I was your wife, Mark. You didn’t have to protect me from everything.”
That was the first time I’d been angry with him since he died.
It felt awful.
It also felt honest.
