ALTHOUGH SAM hasn’t changed since I first saw him in his ICU room, everything else has. The only sounds are the beeping of the computer monitor and the drip, drip, drip of his IVs. I walk over and gently take his hand. “What am I gonna do without you?”

I feel a tiny amount of tension, as if he’s trying to hold my hand. Is this possible if a person is brain-dead?

Then I see a bit of blood has trickled from his left ear onto the pillow. No.

Not wanting anyone else to see the blood because Sam is such a private guy, I cover it up with a piece of gauze. I place my hand on his forehead. It’s too hot.

“I noticed his shoulders are peeling.”

I look up to see the nurse watching me. “Was he somewhere warm?” she asks.

“Yeah. We were in Vegas and he wouldn’t wear any sunscreen.”

She tilts her head. “So, you guys were just on holidays?”

I swallow. “Uh huh. We had an awesome trip.”

“You’re very lucky.”

I stare at her. Lucky is not on the list of how I’m feeling at the moment.

She walks over and takes my hand. “Those memories will carry you far, Adri. This will undoubtedly be the most difficult day of your life but it’s also a very special time for you and Sam. Many people don’t get the opportunity to say goodbye while the person is still alive to hear.”

“But can he hear me?”

She nods. “It’s possible. They say hearing is the last sense to go.”

I ask her if they’ve found Sam’s cross and St. Jude medal yet. They haven’t.

Another nurse comes in to ask me if it’s all right if Sam’s sister comes in. Visitors are being kept away until an official announcement is made. But I give her the OK. When Angela comes into the room, I avoid eye contact, and she goes to Sam’s other side. But when I lean in and kiss him on the lips, his chest goes into spasm.

We look at each other and her face lights up. “That’s a good sign!”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what it means but Sam isn’t gonna make it.”

“What?”

“He’s already brain-dead,” I say. “The doctor just told me. I’m sorry. I hope it’s OK I told you, but I can’t do this alone.”

She walks around and hugs me and we both start bawling. But then Sam’s parents, having managed to sneak past the nurse’s station, appear in the hallway. Arms locked together, they seem so small to me, like little dolls standing side by side. I look at Angela and she shakes her head ever so slightly. It’s not our place to tell Sam’s parents.

I take a step back to let them pass and Angela does the same. His mom cries out Sam’s name and kisses his forehead, as his dad rests his head on Sam’s chest. I want to tell them to be careful and not knock anything out of place. Sam has another spasm.

His parents look at me. I look at Angela. Then she gently leads them, sobbing, from the room. When she returns a few minutes later, the organ transplant coordinator is with her so all three of us go to the office.

“First of all,” the coordinator begins, “I’d like to thank you for making this decision on Sam’s behalf. Hopefully, it will help for you to know that through Sam’s death, he will directly impact other people’s lives.”

Rationally, I understand this. Honestly, I want to tell her to fuck off and go find somebody else’s husband to mine for body parts.

“We need to discuss which of Sam’s organs you wish to be removed.”

I give her a blank stare. “What are my options?”

“We can remove and donate internal organs such as the heart, liver, kidney, pancreas and perhaps lungs.”

“OK.” I could be choosing air conditioning and power windows.

“And how about the skin, tissues and kneecaps?”

I swallow rapidly, trying to not throw up. I look to Angela for clarification, as she knows the Greek Orthodox customs.

“I think you better stick with the internal organs,” she says, “because it’ll have to be an open casket.”

I abhor this custom. But the thought of a skinned Sam upsets me more.

“Just organs,” I tell the coordinator. No to the leather seats.

“And do you wish to have Sam’s organs donated to medical research, if transplant is not possible?”

Sam would flip if I started handing out his body parts to med students. “No.”

“You’re a strong woman,” the coordinator says to me when we’re done.

So, my prayer was answered. Big of Him.

Sam’s sister then goes to The Family Meeting while I go tell Sam about my recycling decisions. I place my hand on his forehead. It’s on fire. I ask the nurse why.

“He’s likely developing pneumonia.”

“Is he in pain?”

“No. He can’t feel a thing.”

“Then why does he have a spasm when I kiss him, or his parent’s touch him?”

She opens her mouth then closes it again. “Well…”

“Goo?”

I turn around to see my middle brother, Harry, standing in the doorway. Goo is my childhood nickname.

Harry comes in and gives me a bear hug. Then he looks down at Sam. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, big fella.”

He looks at me again, wide-eyed. “The doctor just told us about Sam. It was total chaos. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What happened?”

“Sam’s parents collapsed on the floor. His aunt screamed. His brother punched a hole in the wall. Family members rushed to help other family members and the whole time, there was all this…wailing. It didn’t even sound human, Adri.”

The doctor knew exactly what he was doing, speaking to me on my own, away from the herd. If I’d been in that family room and witnessed such demonstrative grief, I wouldn’t have been in any shape to make a rational decision about organ donation.

“And just to give you a heads-up,” Harry says, “everybody in that conference room and the waiting room are now on their way here to say goodbye to Sam.”