the why

in the ups and downs and the heavy, dense pieces of my mind... things only make sense for scarce minutes at a time. Most often the moments come as I'm drifting off to sleep. I think of things I want to write down, but without the energy to move my arms I can only repeat them over and over... hoping I remember in the morning. I don't remember.

No matter their opinions on the subject, when I share with people that I'm about to donate an organ they all ask the same question. "Why are you doing that?"
I could write a book about (and I will) my answers to that question. But I could answer it in three words.
Because it's right.

The more people who profess carelessness, or the more people who say "but why should you care?"... the more alien I feel. I can't wrap my thoughts around it. I can't wrap my head around how we each feel that WE are the only beings that matter. How we assume ulterior motives when someone seeks to help "just because." How we cant help but ask, "what's in it for me?"

What is in it for us?
I was told by someone that it would be "too much to ask" of my organ recipient simply to pay it forward. That *I* shouldn't expect anything in repayment. (Is that what that would be??)
It boggles my mind.
I was told that I can't expect anyone to support me, help care for me through this "elective" process, because it's "not their problem." It makes my insides hurt more than any operation ever could.

Perhaps what's "in it for me" is the knowledge that there is still such a thing as altruism... should such a thing exist. I need desperately to prove to myself that there is still good in the world. That people do still care. Perhaps I need to be the change I want to see in the world. Perhaps what's in it for me is karma. Perhaps it's improving my chances that, should I ever need the help of another or a life-saving organ, the fates will shine on me. Perhaps it's just right.

Every person on this list of 111,136 (as of 9:15pm today) is a son or a daughter. Many of them are husbands or wives, fathers or mothers. And every one of them will die soon. Without help, or luck, that is. With deaths and impending deaths, the list that gets both shorter and longer every day. And for most of these men, women and children (90%), a new lease on life can be easily granted by others.

If I have two of something, but only need one... and someone else, anyone else, has none and will die without one... how could I not share my good fortune? How could I possibly look away? How could I possibly say No. You can die because of my neglect.
But it's not MY fault, you might say. Then whose is it?

We're all responsible for one another. We all depend on one another every day. We depend on farmers and ranchers to grow our food. We depend on truck drivers to bring our gasoline. We depend on law enforcement to lock away our murderers. We depend on surgeons to sew our broken pieces back together. Can we depend on each other for things that we are not paid for?
There are enough of us.
There are enough of us that truly do care for others. That have an answer to the "why do you care?" question. That would step up to protect another human being. I don't know if we could solve any problem. But I know we could nearly eradicate the suffering that we go through when our own bodies begin to fail us.

I could not bear to think of myself as someone who is not THERE when others need her. When I help someone I love, when I am there for them, there are those who say "well I didn't ask you to do that."
My response to that is, of course you didn't. You should never HAVE to. If you love someone, if you care for them, or even if you don't... they should never need to ask you for help. Help is an obligation.

Lately I have struggled to uphold this ideal. Not to fold under the pressure of an epidemic ideal: "well you don't help me, so why should I do help you?" Railing against it crumples my insides into tightly squeezed fists of doubt and anxiety. It can be so hard not to act out of pain. So hard not to turn your hurt back out into the world. Not to betray your ideals because of the betrayal of another.

It hurts to be good.