It's a Sin

That's what the Philadelphia ladies say when something is dead wrong. "It's a sin..." That's what they were saying today at lunch when I was describing L.'s mom to them--how she has moved into yet another house that he will not be allowed to stay in because of (1). dust or (2). the smell of something burning or (3). electrical problems or (4). lawn fertilizer at the next door neighbor's house or (5). a dog that stopped by once ten years ago or (6). the possibility of disaster, harm, germs, dirt, smells, lightning, banana peels, etc. (image is from

The reading/discussion went well last night; several of my co-workers/friends showed up, which was nice. No one heckled. The guy who supposedly goes to all of the readings and asks dumb questions wasn't there, thankfully. I also turned in a story draft for my grad class last night; it needs work. It's a story about what it was like to work at the organ transplant place; how we heard about death every single day, including this nonstop overhead announcement, "Referral on line 1..." signaling that a hospital was calling to say that someone had died and might potentially be an organ or tissue donor. In writing the story, I went over a couple of my old journal entries from when I worked there. I've forgotten many of them (we heard new ones every Monday morning at what they called Quarterback meeting), but one I remember was about this teenager who hung himself on a piece of exercise equipment in the family's basement. I just can't imagine what that was like for the person who found him; likely a member of the family (or NOK as we called them--next of kin). How would you ever get that image out of your head? How would you ever forgive that person?

Also, please never say harvesting when referring to organ donation.