There’s a boy that has my mother’s eyes

My mom was born sick. Her heart wasn’t like your or mine, it was special. And since her heart was special, her lungs addapted and with my mum was special too. I won’t lie and say she was my favourite person all the time, she wasn’t, and we sometimes fought really badly. Why? We were too much alike, we both had our own right, our own hormones and problems. But I can easily say she is the bravest and strongest person I’ve met.

I am the most grateful she fought for me. I wouldn’t be here without her, her stubbornness and her determination to have a child. Girls with her condition aren’t allowed to have children even now, but she found a doctor that said she can have a child, but she was responsible for anything that could happen. Before I was concieved she already had three “forced” abortions, but with she decided no is not an answer. Even today my father keeps telling a story how the doctors predicted around 50% chance of my mother surviving. And me? Nobody even wanted to talk about me. Well, here I am, almost 30 years later, healthy, lively, normal.

My mom decided a few years back she doesn’t want a funeral. She signed and gave her body for students to learn. It was clear her organs weren’t a good donor material, and that way at least somebody, somewhere will maybe learn something from her. She doesn’t care anymore what they do with her body.

But she was wrong. The best news on the worst day of my life came in the evening. My phone rang and my fathr told me my mother will still be seeing this worlds for a while. They called him and asked if they can take her eyes for a boy who can’t see. I smiled trough the tears and I felt a bit easier. There is a boy somewhere that will be able to see everything that is beautiful in this world. Because of my mother. And it is easier.

It hurts, but I will go on. Slowly, step by step, day by day, with the help of people that care for me. I am not the only one that is hurt and I am not the only one grieving. But I am my mother’s only daughter, a living memory, someone who looks (and is) a lot like her.