Maya’s quirky little saying, “That’s the way live lives,” was meant to comfort me. Today, on the 22nd anniversary of her death, it still does. I have a beautiful bouquet of lilacs on my writing table in her honor. Her spunk, fierce intelligence, and beauty are with me more than ever today. And her wisdom: Life has its way with us. Flowing with it is the only sane choice.
Swimming with Maya – the book I wrote to honor the mother-daughter dance – is my way of keeping Maya present in my life and the lives of countless others. Today, thanks to the miracle of social media and my publisher’s creativity, the book is at the top of the e-book charts on Amazon. It takes a village to accomplish that, so I am grateful to people too numerous to name. Maya is too, and she sends her love and thanks.
Maya at age 18
Life wears away our rough edges year by year. I’ll never know what kinds of life lessons might have changed Maya, yet I believe nothing fate threw at her could have eradicated her vivacious humor or penchant for risk – only death accomplished that.
As a bubbly five-year-old, she already knew that life was living through her and that all that aliveness was a gift, a gift she needed to remind her tearful mother about.
I can still see her upturned face, the snap in her eyes, and feel her hand in mine when she told me, “Mommy, don’t be sad. That’s the way life lives.”
Lately, I’ve been playing with photos of my girl. Arranging and rearranging them on a card table in my office. It is striking in how many of these pictures Maya has her arm around me, flung over my shoulders, a protective and proprietary hug that says, “This is my mom. My best friend. It’s us against the world.”
We were co-conspirators. Our shared dream was Maya’s acting career, her face on amovie screen. She was racing toward the dream with a speed that took my breath away. Just the day before her accident she was accepted into the film and theater arts program at UCLA as a community college transfer student with a full scholarship.
We were jubilant. In the space of 24 hours life whirled in another direction, and Maya lay in an intensive care unit profoundly unconscious.
To view a full account of the accident and my decision to donate her organs and tissues to strangers in need, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9hAFcG9Cb0
Today, the recipient of Maya’s liver, Patti Frame is holding her beautiful new grandson in her arms. Today, Olivia Jaras, the daughter of the man who received Maya’s heart, is playing with her two little daughters. Those who received Maya’s kidneys, her corneas, and her skin and bone tissue are living fuller, richer lives because of it.
And today, those of us who loved her are celebrating Maya’s life along with readers of Swimming with Maya. April is National Donate Life Month. Let’s make April 6 “That’s the way life lives” day.
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Ellie, I have finally managed to take a few moments and read some of your blogs. Your memories of Maya brought back my own, and with such vivid images of her. You were a team; she was just shorter. She had all the spunk and vivacious personality that you highlight–truly a delight. Thank you for your memories, your reflections, and your friendship.
With much love,
gk
Thanks, Gena. Love sharing memories of Maya with you!
Laurie, thank you for these very heartfelt words. I was rereading this post, and found them again.
Laurie,
Thanks so much for stopping by and leaving such a heartfelt comment.
Beautifully written Eleanor. What a lovely girl.
Thank you, Pam.
Maya sounds like she was wise beyond her years. “That’s the way life lives” — what a beautiful expression of the acceptance of life’s challenges, even when life is unbearably hard. Thank you for sharing your story. It has moved me and so many other people.
Thank you, Grace.
I’m crying, too! Beautiful words… beautiful gratitude for what is. You’re doing amazing work with your beautiful soul. ~R
Awwww, very sweet. Thanks!
I just finished reading Swimming with maya. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thanks for reading, Becky!
A fabulous tribute my dear Ellie! Indeed…I am holding my grandson…all 4.8 pounds of him.
How do I thank someone for my second life? My daughter was 7 when I was transplanted. She will turn 30 this Fall. My gratitude is immeasureable.
Patti,
So happy for you and the entire family. Enjoy your precious grandson!
With tears in my eyes I read your beautiful poignant words.
You experienced the worst thing a mother would ever have to go through and you found a beautiful way to honor your wonderful daughter.
Xxooooxx