I wondered who's world had just fallen apart as mine came together. I wondered who the person was that loved the donor most. I wondered who it was that had me feeling an insurmountable heap of guilt simply for needing the transplant and then living through it. I wondered who I owed my life to.

I know his name is Alexander McBride, he's twenty-nine years old, and he's the person that's walking around with Jake's heart in his chest. I dislike him already.

I had no way of knowing that resisting grief also meant resisting life.