On dark days I wonder why I survive,
Why, though I may drift so near the abyss,
I return from each journey quite alive --
Why I come back from every near miss.
The darkness of dark days originates,
Under massive grey clouds, blocking the sun:
The shattered shadow my mind generates,
Making each movement toward the light hard won.
I can't make it back from there all alone.
I can't swim against that robust riptide.
Suddenly, although sinking like a stone,
Mighty hands lift me: a warm gentle ride.
And though I am powerless in my plight,
I once again dance in bright golden light.
It is day 733 since my transplant, and although two years have passed since I received that most precious gift from my brother, not every day has been sweet. Not every day has been bright. I have traveled in shadow, through darkness deep and dangerous, to the very edge of life and fought against the pull toward the long sunless sleep. I came back, but not alone. Mighty hands lifted me up and powerful prayers helped carry me home.