I’ve discovered that love trumps grief. Today is the anniversary of my daughter Maya’s death 31 years ago. What sustains me in moments of grief is “love in the trenches,” the kind that demands fortitude and commitment – not the easy breezy romantic ideal.

Just as the trees begin to leaf, the anniversary of Maya’s death occurs every April. Over the last three decades, I’ve discovered how to surf the waves of grief. Maya was declared brain-dead on April 6, 1992. She was only 19, a gifted young woman on the cusp of a bright future. This year, she would have celebrated her 51st birthday.

How mind-blowing is that?

The Hard Work of Loving

Weeks before she died, Maya thanked me for always being there for her.

“You never gave up on me, Mom,” she said, “Even when it got so hard.”

Then she squeezed my hand. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I describe this scene in Chapter 14 of my memoir Swimming with Maya.

In that moment, I felt the joy that comes when someone we love recognizes the hard work of loving. It cuts both ways – our love for them, their love for us. That’s what I mean by “love in the trenches.” Between mothers and daughters, that acknowledgement is special. When I remember Maya’s sweet face, I think of the millions who miss dear faces of their own. Grief is universal because love is universal – grief is the price we pay for great love. In the end, love trumps grief.

Grief as an Expression of Love

I’m living proof that with loving attention, support, and time, grief softens. As we follow the paths mapped by our losses, we learn that grief is really love. The deeper the love, the deeper the grief. When I allow myself to fully feel my love for Maya, and to acknowledge the great privilege of being her mother, I also feel the energy to move forward.

I feel lucky to have watched her grow, to have heard her first words, and watched her first steps.  At six years old, she was a dancing sprite, blond hair glistening in the sun, splashing in the Yuba River on a glorious summer afternoon. Her later self, brash and witty, made jokes at my expense. No one made me laugh like Maya did. And no one was better at pushing my buttons. Our conflicts were fierce, emblematic battles.

Thankfully, we made peace before she left for college. I’m grateful she lived long enough to show herself – and me – where her acting talents might take her. In Swimming with Maya, I write about those final months of her life when she aced her audition at UCLA and earned a place in their theater arts program as a community college transfer student.

A fall from a horse that left her in an irreversible coma happened while she was home on spring break. She left this earth blazing over us like a lightning strike.

Radical Generosity

I’ve always thought of myself as a kind person. But after Maya’s accident, I learned what true kindness is. A brain surgeon had just asked me if I would give my daughter’s vital organs to strangers. Doctors had just declared her brain dead and signed her death certificate. They were preparing to remove the machines keeping her heart pumping and her lungs breathing.

I was frozen with grief, paralyzed by anguish I thought I would never outlive. But I heard myself say “Yes!” to the doctor’s request.

In that moment I made a decision that would change my life forever, and radically alter the lives of countless others. Four people’s lives were saved, two people had their sight restored, and dozens benefitted from Maya’s bone and skin tissues which were processed and stored for burn victims and cancer patients. Through the miracle of donation and transplantation, families were kept whole, and people on the verge of death found new life and strength.

When Maya died, it would have been so easy to give up. But because I chose radical generosity in a moment of crisis, hope was reborn for our family, including my surviving daughter Meghan, who was then 11-years-old.

The Gift of Life

Our “gift of life” allowed us to navigate through grief knowing that a miracle had emerged from a tragedy. April is National Donate Life Month. Each year, I write about the importance of choosing to become an organ and tissue donor. I do this to honor Maya, to help others experience the miracle of donation, and to celebrate the recipients of our gift.

They received a second chance at life with a new heart, a new liver, or a new kidney. Maya’s corneas restored sight. And many more people received bone grafts and skin tissue. One decision in a moment of crisis keeps rippling into the future.

More than anything, my message is this: Love trumps grief. When you feel all the way to the bottom of your grief, love will be waiting. Embrace it! And if that seems too difficult, do something for others. An act of kindness can transform any situation, no matter how dire.

I hope you’ll sign a donor card and tell your loved ones about your decision. Visit the Donate Life America website to learn how at https://www.donatelife.net/register/.

A slightly different version of this post appeared in the Rossmoor News.