“They say every man can be replaced. They say every distance is not near. So I remember every face of every man who put me here,” is the opening verse to “I Shall Be Released” by Bob Dylan, a song that became my mantra four years ago.
At 45, I found myself on life support at Tufts Medical Center, waiting for a miracle. I was fortunate to be there, thanks to my good friend Bill Currie, who helped me get in during the challenging times of COVID. Initially, Bill was a demanding customer at the auction where I worked, always expecting the best service. Although I believed I handled customers well, he pushed me to improve. Over time, he became not just a great customer but also a mentor and friend. When my doctors in Manchester, N.H., had given up hope due to end-stage heart failure, Bill had a different idea. He encouraged me to go to Boston, made some phone calls, and secured an appointment at Tufts, starting the process to find me a heart donor.
Facing death gives you perspective on the life you’ve lived. The chorus of the same song says, “I see my light come shinin’ from the west down to the east, any day now, any day now, I shall be released.” Whether it was death or a miracle, I was about to be released.
On Jan. 5, 1994, I became a father at the age of 18, still in high school. I fell in love with a girl, and we had a baby boy named Joe. When I first saw his alien-like face emerge from his mother, I was filled with both joy and fear. As a teenager, I knew I had to start working to take care of this new life. I was no longer living just for myself; I had someone who needed me. I wanted to give him a better life than I had. I dreamed he would excel in sports and prayed every day he would find love, and success. I worried about him, hoping he could avoid drugs, and wished for his safety. The fear of tragedy haunted me.
In 1991, Jessica, a teenager from Connecticut met a young man named Moises (Mopy). Jessica, still in high school, spent her senior year pregnant with a baby boy. She gave birth to him on Sept. 12, 1992. Like me, she had high hopes and prayers for her son, Dominick. She worked hard to get her degree and start a career in nursing. Though her relationship with Mopy didn’t work out, she later met, and married Steve Gholston, who eventually adopted Dominick. Jessica wanted the best for her son, working diligently to provide for him. As an adult, Dominick reunited with his father Mopy and built a relationship with his biological family. Dominick had a heart full of love and cared deeply for those close to him, especially his mom. He was also a young father to his two children, Aiden and Ryan. Dominick was adventurous and loved hobbies, including jet skiing, flying, and caring for animals.
The song goes on, “They say every man needs protection-They say that every man must fall-Yet I swear I see my reflection-Somewhere so high above this world.” In July 2020, as the world grappled with COVID-19, I found myself in the ICU at Tufts Medical Center, with a clear view down Washington Street to Chinatown. As spring turned to summer, I was restless, uncomfortable, seriously ill and near death.
My family never missed a visit; my daughters, Hannah and Sarah, along with my son, Joey, took turns with my wife Nina to be by my side. My co-workers at the auction raised money to support my family. My youngest son, Max turned 12 while I was in the hospital, and he wasn’t allowed to visit me. It felt as though he couldn’t grasp what was happening. My life was rapidly coming to an end, and I even cried out for death as I lay in the hospital. I felt like God was unfair to me. The last verse of the song made me swell with emotion: “Now, yonder stands a man in this lonely crowd-A man who swears he’s not to blame-All day long I hear him shouting so loud-Just crying out that he’s been framed.”
Amid the bleakness, I experienced some of the best days of my life. I had the opportunity to have deeply impactful conversations with my children. It’s rare to confront our mortality and grasp the importance of saying “I’m sorry.” I was able to apologize to my children for not always being the best dad, and together, we cried and built a stronger bond. I shared my last bits of wisdom with them, uncertain if I would still be alive the next time it was their turn to visit. I was eager for a miracle.
At the same time, 100 miles south in Connecticut, Dominick was grappling with his own sense of worth and struggling with his mortality. Tragically, Dominick lost his life. Meanwhile in Boston, I was reaching the end of the usefulness of my left ventricular assist device (LVAD), an artificial heart pump that had been keeping me alive while I awaited a heart donor, replacing my LVAD posed a high risk of death. I desperately needed a miracle.
On July 13, 2020, I, along with at least five others, received our miracle by organs donated by Dominick Gholston. This selfless act was something he had decided to do at the age of 16 when he got his driver’s license. The phone call from Doctor Vest informing me that I was going to receive a heart was incredibly emotional. I could barely speak as I called my family to share the news. There was an underlying understanding that my life was being saved because someone else had lost theirs.
I battled through the surgery and was released 10 days later to convalesce. As I pulled up Bayberry Lane, I was greeted by signs of support and cheers from neighbors, which overwhelmed me emotionally. The love from my co-workers, customers, neighbors, and family propelled me through that very difficult time. Nina grabbed hold of me and got me through this ordeal. She is the toughest person I know, and I’m lucky to have such a wonderful wife. She saved me.
A few months later, I met Dominick’s dad, Mopy, and his family. They came to my house, listened to Dominick’s heart beat inside me, met my family, and started a relationship with us that will last the rest of our lives.
Later we met Jessica and her husband Steve at a diner in Oxford, Massachusetts. Jessica is beautiful, kind, and selfless. Her loss was profound. They say you never get over losing a child, and Jessica fights that battle every day. The loss of the dreams you have for your child and your greatest fears coming to life are devastating and even crippling. Jessica deserves only the best as she lives out the rest of her life, and I pray for that daily.
Dominick’s family and I maintain a strong relationship, and I feel a deep sense of loss, understanding the bond I have with my own son, Joe. Dominick and Joe are very similar, and I can’t imagine the grief I would feel if I lost one of my own children. I believe that Dominick lives on through me. Every day, I share his story; every step I take, I take with Dominick. He is present in every thought and every moment, and I owe my life to his decision to extend his legacy through me.
There is a national hotline to help those in crisis. If you need help or feel hopeless, you can dial 988, a suicide and crisis lifeline. If you would like to become an organ donor, you can register online at registerme.org.
Salisbury resident C.J. Fitzwater is a curious traveler, perpetually on the lookout for fresh frontiers. With each journey, he blends historical threads into his stories. Email him at: cfitzwater@ymail.com.
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