I drove by that street today. I looked down it, as I always do, forever-unanswered questions running through my mind.

I drove on to the church I go to once a year for this event, this gathering of the grieving; the grieving whose loved ones ended up being organ/tissue donors.

I listen to people sing and read and talk. I cry. I watch a slide show of your faces, the faces we no longer see except in a picture album or a frame. In your picture you are playing your blue guitar and smiling with joy. I cry. I say your name into a microphone and receive a sun catcher butterfly. I cry. I light a candle and think of you, your face flitting through my mind, different ages, different expressions. I cry.

I chat with people I see only here at this ceremony once a year. I chat with a childhood friend of yours. I choose a flower to take home to your daughter.

I cry on the way home.

I pass that street once more. That awful street where you were fatally hurt.

I cry.

I go into my room and put the new butterfly on the window. Your death will always haunt me, but your gift of life gave extended life to others -- your generosity lives on.

I touch the butterfly.......and I smile.