Taylor's Gift by Tara Storch Page B

anything. And you don’t have to give me a quote. But I want you to know there will be things written, and if there is anything you want to tell us, we’ll make sure we get it out there, and we get it right.”
    â€œOh, my gosh. I never thought of that,” I said. But I should have. All of my clients were in some form of media: radio, television, or newspapers. “Of course, I want to make sure the details are correct.”
    He started by asking me the correct spelling of all three kids’ names. He asked what school Taylor went to, how old she was, and the name of the city where we lived outside of Dallas.
    I didn’t give him a full-blown interview; it was difficult enough to get through answering his basic questions. The best I could do was fill in some holes, like the fact we were on our spring break vacation.
    At the time, I didn’t realize how that little trickle of information would turn into a raging flood of media over the next year. Atthe time, Tara and I didn’t know or care. All we cared about was spending our last few precious hours with our daughter.
    Tara
    All I did was cry. The passage of time simultaneously seemed fast and slow—sometimes it stood still. The only consistent thing through the night of March 15 and into the morning of March 16 was that I never had any idea what time was actually on the clock.
    â€œPlease eat,” one nurse said, handing me graham crackers and juice. I appreciated her kindness, but I couldn’t drink the juice; I was shaking so badly that I nearly poured it on myself.
    â€œTara, you’ve got to eat something,” Todd said, watching me. “Bill said before he left that you needed to eat.” I picked up a cracker and tried to nibble on it. When Todd got busy on the phone, I set it back down.
    It was hard to believe that Taylor was already gone and that in a few hours we’d say our final goodbyes and never see her again this side of heaven. How does that make sense? I lay still with my head on her chest and listened to her heart beating. I knew it was only pumping because of the machines, but still it was Taylor’s heart, and I took consolation in knowing that even after she was gone, it would continue to beat. I thought about the person who would be receiving it and what he or she must be going through. I cried for us, for them, and for the fallen world we lived in that let things like this happen. I also prayed. God, just help me get through these next few days.
    â€œI just want to meet the person who gets her heart,” I said. “Even if I never get to meet any of the other recipients, I need to hear her heartbeat again.”
    I heard Todd sniffling. Though he was trying to be my rock, I knew he was grieving too.
    He wrapped his arms around me. We held each other and wept.
    Todd
    The next morning, at exactly 6:00, the three people dressed in scrubs returned.
    â€œIs it time?” I asked.
    â€œWhenever you’re ready,” one of them said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
    I looked at Tara quietly crying while she stroked Taylor’s hair and face. Don’t they know we’d never be ready? We’re letting our little girl go. How does anyone ever get ready enough to do that?
    Even after they walked out the door, I could sense them standing outside in the hallway, waiting. There was this busyness happening outside the door, and the number of people waiting seemed to continually grow. Everyone was very compassionate, but I could feel their urgency too. The longer we spent in the room, the more the tension outside the room grew.
    We were crying, holding Taylor, rubbing her face and hands, kissing her, and telling her how much we loved her. “I need to hear her heart again,” Tara said, leaning down to listen one more time to her daughter’s heartbeat. We were trying to gather a lifetime of memories in the few minutes it took to say goodbye. I knew we weren’t moving