Witness Marks: Stories From a Heart Transplant

The holiday season arrives each year dressed in bright lights and confident cheer, announcing itself as a time when everyone is supposed to feel warm, grateful, and whole. Songs insist on joy. Social media posts glow with parties and matching sweaters. Calendars fill with gatherings and traditions. But sometimes this season quietly overlaps with something much heavier: reality—illness, exhaustion, and a sadness that feels out of place among all the celebration. Being sick during the holidays carries a particular loneliness. Sickness already narrows the world—your body asks you to slow down, to cancel plans, to listen closely to discomfort. When it coincides with a season that emphasizes togetherness and energy, that narrowing can feel like exclusion and loneliness. You may watch celebrations from a distance, physically or emotionally unable to participate. Even minor illnesses can feel larger in December, as if they are stealing something precious and irreplaceable. There is also the e...

In the movie Elizabethtown , the character Drew Baylor stands in his aunt's kitchen with a group of new-to-him relatives following his father's viewing. While visiting estranged family in Kentucky, Drew's father had passed away from a heart attack and Drew was sent by his mother and sister from Oregon to take care of the funeral and bring his father's remains home. Chaos ensues. In this particular scene, the night is warm, the light is low, they're obviously tired both physically and emotionally, yet they're smiling as they revel in a sweet melancholy that often follows traumatic life events.  I love this scene. It calls to mind a difficult-to-describe sentimentality that you have to experience to understand. It is this almost peaceful longing, a reverent recall of difficult times. As if the slow let down  that happens following the adrenaline rush and fear, provides its own serotonin release, cementing a beautiful nostalgia all its own. This is what my family e...