Everyone deals with grief differently. Some turn to their spiritual beliefs for comfort and guidance. For me, it’s blood sacrifice.
I know, this is starting to sound really weird. But it’s not what it sounds like. It’s a good, wholesome deed, which members of almost every religion can participate in, and God won’t hate ya’ for it — PROMISE.
To best explain how this all works, let me share a little about some very important people.
Adrian
I met this little guy back in 2000, shortly before I married his aunt. Adrian was a very smart, deep kid. You could talk for hours about the wonders of the universe with him, and he loved to draw, so of course, we hit it off early.
Somewhere on an old VHS tape, I have some very shaky footage of a bumpy trail ride in my ’98 Jeep Cherokee. While very little can be seen, other than the back of a seat, you can hear the excited (sometimes terrified) voices of Adrian and his little brother, as they cheer on my crazy driving. We toss creative insults back & forth, stealing from Beavis & Butthead, calling each other things like butt munchkin, or turd burgler. Eventually, the term “Trout Snipper” slipped out. From that point on, it was our own special insult for each other.
Adrian and his brother Cristian were a great introduction to family for me. I hadn’t really been around little dudes I claimed as my own before them. When their little sis came along, they were awesome big brothers. And when I started growing my Wooley crew, they were equally awesome cousins.
Fast forward a couple decades: we’re all busy. Family has moved around and rearranged some. Adrian is in his mid 20’s, doing young guy stuff. I’m wrapped up in work, my kids, and nonprofits. Not only that, I’ve stirred the pot with family, and made things awkward at times. With all that, I mostly lose contact with Adrian. I see him every once in a while, at family gatherings, or out in the real world.
One day, I got told he was sick, in the hospital. A few days later, he was gone. This was in January, 2021 — a couple days before protestors stormed the U.S. Capitol.
I cannot describe the pain felt that day. As I type this, I cannot help the tears. It still hurts.
Mamacita
About 30 years ago, my dad married a sweet lady named Julie. I don’t blame him. Everyone who met her, immediately fell in love with her.
My Mamacita was a very active lady, who loved dancing, tiny flowers, babies, and Jesus. She also claimed to be the first person to bring tacos to Crestview, Florida. This was one of many stories she loved to tell.
Having moved across the country many moons ago, I was separated from her geographically. We made a few family road and plane trips to visit when we could (7 people traveling is expensive). When she started getting really sick, I made those trips alone to be with her at the hospital.
Mamacita defied the odds several times, bouncing back from strokes, after the doctors suggested we say our goodbyes. She was stubborn like that.
But in June of 2021, her time her was done. I was beside her for a couple weeks, telling her it was OK to let go. Watching her suffer was hard. I eventually had to return home. She died a day after I got back.
How this all connects to blood drives
I already had Desert Pigs hosting blood drives through Vitalant prior to my hardships of 2021. But now, they have new meaning.
While I was dealing with the shock of Adrian’s death, I had a blood drive scheduled. As I was feeling my grief, I thought about how many others have felt, or will feel the same, as they lose loved ones. Then I thought about what blood donation really means: PREVENTING THAT PAIN FOR SOMEONE ELSE.
While it doesn’t take my pain away, I know these blood drives have already saved literally hundreds of people. That’s hundreds of hugs and second chances. No, it doesn’t stop these tears, but it gives them value. BECAUSE I cry for the ones I lost, I’m driven to make sure someone gets to see their own Trout Snipper or Mamacita again.
If arranging a place for a blood bus, and rallying up some donors is all it takes to save lives, then I don’t see me ever stoping. We’ve collected many gallons, but it has a shelf life, and there’s never enough to go around.
Desert Pigs blood drives
I encourage others to find a blood bank nearby, and bleed in honor of someone you miss. Think about your pain, and how you are saving up to 3 others from feeling it.
You will probably cry, and that’s ok. Those tears helped save lives.
Talk about it
You have powerful things to say and accomplish. I have lots of respect for you. Your words here have me in tears. I remember when you lost Adrian. He sounds a lot like my late son Phil. We used to have deep conversations. The last face-to-face talk was about the nature of time! His artistic bent was in writing (not drawing), another thing we had in common. And now I’m caring for my mother in my home — watching her fade, knowing the time to say goodbye is coming — as you watched Momacita.
I’ve admired your efforts with the blood drives (and so much more). I understand their importance as my disabled son had needed many transfusions. I used to give regularly but lately am too tired and afraid it might interfere with my caregiving responsibilities (sounds like an excuse, but the concern is real). But some day (hopefully) soon, I’ll extend my arm and bleed with you.
Keep doing good, Phil!
I miss seeing you across the desk. Thank you
I remember when your dad brought Julie to meet my Pa…..forever ago. The thing that is etched I’m my memory is her love for different types of teas. I remember her having sassafras tea that night. Crazy the things you remember. I know what it’s like to to experience that type if loss. It just isn’t fair.
I still miss your Pa too. I can still hear his voice in my head, and smell that pipe.