My daughter has been waiting over nine months for a liver transplant.
And my daughter is angry.
She’s angry at God. In her eyes, He’s the one who created her with this disease, it’s His fault.
She’s angry with me. I’m her mom. I am the fixer of boo-boos. Yet with this, I am powerless, and that frustrates her.
She’s angry with the transplant coordinator; afraid that she’s completely forgotten about her.
She’s angry with the organ donors who, as terrible as this is, haven’t died yet. She doesn’t completely comprehend that a tragedy has to happen to a family in order to have her transplant. She just knows that a donor has the liver she needs.
I try to soothe her anger, but I’m not very successful.
Maybe because I am, well, not angry, but frustrated too.