I told my family if they don't donate everything usable, I'll haunt them.



When my dad died, it was very sudden and unexpected. I was completely gutted and had a mental breakdown. The doctors asked if we wanted to donate organs and whether we were comfortable with them taking tissues and skin and stuff. We agreed to it, although the next day I almost called to take it back because the idea of him vulnerable and being 'taken apart' was agony to me. (I sobbed for four days over knowing he was waiting to be cremated due to a repair to the funeral home's crematorium. The funeral home promised his body was being treated with respect and I know they weren't lying, they were good folks. But the whole idea was awful to me.) My stepmom convinced me not to, that they probably already had taken everything they could while his body was fresh.



Months later, we got a card from the tissue donation group. Dad's organs weren't any good (I didn't think they would be) but his eyes restored sight to three people. One was a young woman with a passion for photography (one of Dad's passions as well) and the surgery took her from complete blindness to being able to see well enough to take pictures again. She sent us her story and wrote that she was going to Vietnam with a charity and would be taking pictures there. Vietnam was a country Dad always wanted to visit but never did.



I guess in a way, he kinda did now.



Father's Day has been hell for me this year, and this comic brought the memory of how much peace it gave me knowing a bit of Dad was still "out there" and helping people. He would have loved to know he gave sight to people, since his own sight was awful and he had an eye injury as a child that left him very squeamish and sensitive about eyes.



Thanks if you read this far.