Chapter 20 - One Hundred Good Stories

In ancient times, when a monumental event occurred, people built a monument.

Usually, this involved arranging rocks so future generations would remember what happened.

Later, people invented little brass plaques in case the local tour guide was out to lunch.

In my family, we do not usually pile rocks or install plaques.

We get a T-shirt.

The shirt celebrated day one hundred after transplant and carried the line:

One hundred bad days make one hundred good stories.

It was borrowed from a song by AJR entitled “100 Bad Days”.

At the bottom were mountains representing a truth that had become clear throughout the journey:

No one climbs a mountain alone.

The Hands That Held the Ropes

I pictured the community around us as people holding ropes.

Some ropes were practical.

Some emotional.

Some spiritual.

No person held all of them.

One person provided a ride.

Another delivered food.

Another listened without trying to fix.

Another understood medical language.

Another prayed when our prayers became short.

Another communicated updates.

Another made us laugh.

Each strand looked small by itself.

Together, they formed a strong rope.

Support had weight-bearing capacity.

It did not merely stand nearby and observe the burden.

It took hold of part of it.

A Family Monument

The T-shirt made me laugh.

That was no small thing.

It also made me feel seen.

My family understood that the journey needed a marker, but not a solemn marble monument.

We are more of a meaningful-shirt-and-inside-joke family.

The mountain image mattered because I knew who had climbed beside me.

I might have been the patient.

This had never been a solo expedition.