Dear Old Friends,
Lately, the years we shared have been stirring again. Maybe it is because life feels lighter now, or because healing has been waking old memories. Whatever the reason, it was the right time to put these words on the page.
Thank you for the years you spent behind the curtain, doing the unseen work that kept me going. From childhood through every season of adulthood, you handled more than anyone ever saw: peanut‑butter sandwiches smashed in my backpack, late-night microwaved burritos in college, stress-driven drive-thru meals eaten in the car, celebrations marked with frosting-heavy birthday cake, and more caffeine than any organ should ever endure. Through it all, you stayed constant in the work you were made for.
I was not always gentle with the body entrusted to me. From my family history of kidney disease to diabetes to high blood pressure, it meant you had to work overtime from the beginning, then increase hours in 2004, and even more in 2017. Even with those challenges, you kept going. You worked with what you had and offered more than anyone knew. Endurance like that deserves honor.
But over time, the signs began to appear. Fatigue lingered until even getting out of bed felt like lifting something heavier than myself. The swelling that asked for extra attention. Lab numbers that kept moving in the wrong direction, insisting something was wrong before I was willing to admit it. Looking back, your patience rose from those years with strength. You endured my stubbornness and my avoidance and still held on.
Then, kidney dialysis arrived. More than 550 nights spent connected to the peritoneal dialysis machine beside my bed, its tubing rustling each time I shifted under the blankets. The cycler’s whirr and constant beeps became the soundtrack of my sleep, or lack thereof, pulling me awake whenever the solution struggled to flow. Warm fluid filled my abdomen while the room stayed cool, leaving my body caught between two temperatures that never quite agreed. Even in the dark, the faint scent of antiseptic and warmed plastic lingered in the air.
This was occurring while life was happening for everyone else, lying there under the glow of the machine’s screen, watching the updated status change before drifting back to sleep. Even in those hours, your effort lingered, helping me hold on until more help could arrive. I never saw failure in those days. Only endurance. Two organs were reaching the end of their strength after years of faithful service.
When the search for a kidney donor began, that was the moment I finally admitted I could not run on dialysis for much longer and needed a new source of strength. Then Sidney (the kidney) entered the story, a gift I still struggle to describe. A new, hardworking “relief pitcher” stepping into a role you carried for so long. In my heart, the two of you offer Sidney a blessing for their journey ahead.
There is a sacredness in farewells and in closure like this. Not the dramatic kind, but the kind that says, “We did our best, didn’t we?” We made it farther than I ever imagined. You shaped me and taught me to pay attention to what is happening with me in real-time. You showed me that the body is both fragile and astonishingly strong, and that help often appears in the places overlooked. As Sidney helps me step into a new season, I carry those lessons with me.
My life is different now. Energy has returned in ways I can feel in my breath, deeper and steadier than before. I wake and walk to the kitchen with no need to pause on the edge of the bed. I brew coffee and stand at the counter, my body carrying its own weight without effort. Even a simple walk down the block feels like reclaiming something I thought I had lost. These ordinary moments carry hope in them, grounded and unmistakable. This beginning is a gift, and the years we shared helped make it possible.
Thank you for every mile and for each day you kept me going. Thank you for staying with me until help arrived. Our chapter has closed, but the gratitude remains.
I carry both of you with me still, resting in the place you served for so many years, a reminder of the miles we traveled and the kindness that carried us through.
With deep appreciation for all you did,
~ Chad
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