Taylor's Gift by Tara Storch Page B

waiting a week for the inevitable,” said Bill.
    I looked at Bill, standing next to the neurosurgeon, and pleaded with him to do something, anything.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” he said.
    â€œThere’s no hope, Bill? A test? More surgery?”
    He shook his head. “I looked at the scans. There’s been no change between the scan they did in Vail and the one they did this morning.”
    Months later, when we could hear it, Bill explained that normal brain anatomy hadn’t even been visible in her scans. Taylor’s brain had been so badly injured it didn’t even resemble a brain.
    Todd sat next to me on the small sofa and wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face in his neck, where our tears merged as we wept. When we finally pulled apart, Dr. Pemblee spoke.
    â€œI have one more question,” she said. “Would you be willing to donate Taylor’s organs?”
    I looked at Todd to make sure we were in agreement.
    â€œAbsolutely!” he said.
    â€œIt’s what Taylor would want,” I agreed, and then I burst into fresh tears.
    Todd
    The surgical team asked us to stand outside while they removed the ventilator and performed the bedside tests. They called her deathat 12:15 that afternoon, Monday, March 15, but we knew in our hearts she’d left us much earlier.
    Doctors told us it would likely be the next morning before they would have everything in place to remove her organs. They said we could stay with her until then. Of course, we both wanted to.
    I’d been on and off the phone since we’d left Vail, getting prayer chains started and informing friends and family what had happened. Tara’s brothers were on their way to Grand Junction, along with her dad. I’d also talked to Matt Sunshine again, telling him that Taylor had died. When the nurses finished, Bill left to make a phone call. Tara and I were alone in the room with Taylor.
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” Tara asked. I’d never seen her dark eyes look so sad and lonely. “How do you plan a funeral?”
    I didn’t have an answer. We sat in uneasy silence, and I could tell she was thinking. Finally, she said, “I’m going to call Mary Marshall.” Later, we would look back on that moment and know it had been a divine revelation. Mary became one of the angels who were there for us when we needed them most.
    Mary and Tara weren’t the kind of friends who got together often or talked on the phone every day, but even when they hadn’t seen each other in months, they could still pick up where they’d last left off. Mary had a daughter who was friends with Taylor and a son who was friends with Ryan. Tara had often talked about Mary’s exquisite taste and her ability to get things done, and done right. She was the perfect person to help.
    I could tell from Tara’s side of the conversation that Mary already knew at least part of what was going on. Coppell is a small community. Everyone knows everyone else. As soon as one person found out about Taylor’s accident, it wouldn’t have taken long for word to spread.
    In addition, I was a big social networking guy, both personally and professionally. I’d been tweeting and posting updates to my Facebook page since we’d left Coppell. In fact, right before the accident, I’d tweeted it was a perfect day on the slopes, it was the best family vacation we’d ever had, and that it was the trip of a lifetime.
    While we were on the shuttle bus between Vail and Grand Junction, I’d used both Twitter and Facebook to ask people to pray for Taylor. Somewhere, between the mountains and the storm, I’d lost my internet connection, so I wasn’t sure how much had actually gone through. But by Monday afternoon, I realized at least some of the prayer requests had. People were responding with notes of encouragement and promises of prayer.
    As Tara filled Mary in on the latest details, she’d