On the Inside

7. Deion Jr

A/N: Make sure you've read chapter 6 first. 

Two Years, Seven and a Half Months Later

Darlene Smith

It's been more than two years since my husband passed away in my arms, shot in the head while protecting me and our son. I've spent an equally extended period of time grappling with the devastating tragedy of that day - the one I thought would be the best one of my life, paralleled only by the day I married the man I would love till eternity. 

The memories of that day were still vivid as if that whole scene was replaying in front of me right now. He had been rushed to the OR within minutes, the doctors had worked to save him for hours, but he never came back to life. 

Though he did give life that day - to five people who would have otherwise died in the weeks and months to come. 

See, my husband was an organ donor. 

Because of him a little girl was able to get an intestinal transplant after her own GI tract was destroyed by a congenital malformation. 

A young boy was able to able to breathe again after a lung transplant, because his own lungs had filled with pus from cystic fibrosis - a genetic disorder he was born with. 

A man was able to get a new kidney after his own had stopped working almost a decade ago leaving him completely dependent on a machine, in a slow march towards death. 

Another was able to get a heart, after his own was left damaged by a virus. 

And, lastly a woman was able to get a liver after she had drunk herself to liver failure. 

Five lives saved by my husband, in addition to mine and our son's - if that doesn't define Deion Anderson at the very core of who he was, I don't know what else would. 

"Oh my God, Mama. Look, a cat," a little voice jolted me out of my reverie. 

That was Deion Jr (Junior), named after his father - one of the most selfless men the world had ever known. Even though he had never met him, our son was an undeniable reflection of the best parts of his father, from his infectious smiled to the perpetual amazement in his eyes.

Today was Deion Jr's 2nd birthday, and we were celebrating it with our closest friends and family. 

"I know baby," I picked him up. "Its adorable, isn't it."

The Persian cat with her fluffy off-white fur who had been lovingly names 'snow white' wasn't ours, it belonged to a little blonde girl, Jennifer Olson. The Olsons had brought it along because the last time we were at their place, on Christmas, Deion wouldn't stop playing with it. 

Mathew reached out to Deion, "Come on buddy, you want to go play with snow white?" Without a moment's hesitation Deion held out his chubby little arms. Uncle Mathew was his favorite after all. 

Why wouldn't he be? Every time he cradled him in his arms, I sensed that Deion could hear the rhythmic heartbeat of his own father, even if he wasn't consciously aware of it yet. Perhaps, in some divine way, it brought him comfort as well, just as it brought me solace to think that if fate had to take my son's father away, it spared a little girl her own father.

Mathew, Deion Jr and Jennifer ran off to play with the cat that seemed to be mesmerized with a plastic ball as it jumped around in my backyard. 

"How are you hanging in?" Jacquie asked as we stood together watching our kids play.