We’ll Make It Through
When the tears run dry, when the strength to bear grief fades, you must force yourself to go on. To live—whatever it takes—so you can bring kindness and joy to those around you. And most of all, to know you’re needed.
Edward and his wife, Emily, wept over their son in the hospital ward where thirteen-year-old Oliver had been brought after a car struck him. Their only child, bright and tender-hearted, was everything to them.
“Doctor, just tell us—will our Oliver pull through?” Emily pleaded, searching the doctor’s eyes as he avoided her gaze, offering no promises.
“We’re doing all we can,” was all he said.
Edward and Emily weren’t wealthy, but they’d have scrounged every penny to save him. Yet no money, no love, could stop the inevitable. Oliver lay unconscious, his time slipping away.
In the next ward lay Jacob, a boy of about fourteen. Wise beyond his years—a product of the care system, life had never been kind. He felt weak, struggled to breathe, and knew his days were few. For an orphan with a failing heart, a donor was a distant dream.
When the elderly doctor visited, he’d repeat, eyes averted:
“Don’t lose hope, Jacob. We’ll find you a heart. Just hold on.”
But Jacob knew the truth—the doctor was only soothing him. He never cried.
“Time’s running out,” Jacob thought. “Might as well accept it. I’ll stare at the sky, the green grass, the sun… soon, I won’t see any of it.”
His carers visited, offering empty comfort, their eyes just as shifty.
“Things will turn out fine,” they’d say. He nodded, not bothering to tell them he knew better.
Once, feigning sleep, he overheard his carer beg the doctor:
“Save him if you can. He’s a good lad. We’ll handle any paperwork—just give him a chance.”
The doctor sighed. “You know it’s not up to me. I’d help if I could.”
Jacob’s breath rattled. He shut his eyes and thought:
“Just let it be painless…”
His mate, Alfie, from the care home visited—older by a year and a half—and wept. Jacob comforted *him*:
“Don’t fret, Alfie. Maybe there’s something after. We’ll meet again—just not soon.”
Lying there, Jacob pondered life with weary clarity.
“I know I’m hanging by a thread. What a shame—no more warm rain, no bright sun, no crunch of winter snow.”
He’d given up on miracles. So when the doctor approached, meeting his gaze for once, and said,
“Get ready, Jacob. Surgery’s soon. Let’s hope for the best,” Jacob just lay there, resigned. He didn’t know the storm raging in the doctor’s office—Oliver’s parents, shattered.
Emily sobbed, voice raw:
“I’ll *never* let them take my boy’s heart!”
Edward stayed silent, torn. The doctor pressed on:
“Oliver won’t make it. But this could save another child. Time’s running out—please decide.”
Edward finally looked up, hollow-eyed.
“Do it. Let another boy live with his heart.” Emily said nothing, sedated beyond protest.
In the operating room, Jacob closed his eyes. He wasn’t scared. He thought of his parents, lost long ago in a crash. No one told him about the transplant—he didn’t dare hope.
He woke to the doctor’s face hovering above, voice soft:
“There you are. It’s going to be alright now.”
Jacob noticed—for the first time—the doctor held his gaze. A flicker of hope sparked.
“Maybe it *is* alright. Maybe they gave me a heart.” He drifted back to sleep.
Oliver’s parents waited. Logically, they knew he was gone. But in their hearts, they clung to the thought—his heart still beating inside another boy.
The doctor emerged, exhausted:
“It worked. Thank you. Jacob’s alive because of you.”
Emily crumpled. Edward couldn’t speak, only nodded.
Time passed. Jacob recovered, learned of the transplant, met Oliver’s parents—now his visitors daily. Post-hospital care was needed, and one day, Edward and Emily made an offer:
“Jacob, we’d like to adopt you. If you’ll have us.”
He hesitated. The care home loomed, but this… this was a chance.
“…Alright,” he murmured.
He didn’t know how hard it had been for them. Emily had refused at first, until Edward reminded her—Oliver’s heart lived in Jacob. They’d fought, wept, then agreed: maybe he could fill the void.
Jacob felt uneasy, though. Under Emily’s gaze, he sensed she searched for traces of Oliver. Tears lurked in her eyes.
At their home, Edward showed him Oliver’s room.
“Yours now. Settle in.” Jacob eyed the tablet on the desk, glancing at Edward for permission.
“Go ahead,” Edward said, stepping out.
Jacob—who’d never held a tablet before—scrolled, enthralled. Until Emily’s sharp voice cut in:
“Didn’t they teach you to ask before touching things?”
He froze, hand flying to his pounding chest.
“Sorry—Edward said—”
Edward hurried in as she snatched the tablet away.
“Emily, *I* let him. He’s just had surgery—he doesn’t need this.”
She fled, sobbing. Edward followed.
In the next room, her voice wavered:
“*He* can’t be stressed, but I can?”
Jacob sat alone, guilt-ridden.
“Maybe I should go back. Or better yet—if the heart had failed…”
Weeks crawled by. Surface calm. Hospital visits, paperwork. But Emily’s comparisons stung:
“Oliver did it better. Oliver was quicker. Oliver was brighter…”
Jacob called them nothing—just *you*. Edward smoothed things over:
“Give her time, son. We’re men—she’s grieving.”
Jacob waited. Tried not to disappoint. But Emily’s grief spilled over—until one day, she broke.
“I can’t do this. The difference—it’s too much.” She packed a bag and left.
That evening, Jacob found Edward brooding.
“Take me back tomorrow. I’m just causing trouble. You’ll make up without me.”
Edward studied him—then saw it. The same kindness Oliver had. He pulled Jacob close.
“It’s alright, lad. We’re strong. We’ll make it through…”
Alone, they settled into quiet rhythm. Cooking together, talking late. But both missed Emily.
“Her birthday’s tomorrow,” Edward said.
Jacob looked up, something shifting inside. He hugged Edward tight.
“Dad… let’s bring Mum home.”
Edward wept—whether from *Dad* or the offer, he couldn’t say.
The next day, they arrived at Emily’s parents’. She opened the door, stunned.
“Mum… come home. We miss you,” Jacob blurted, offering flowers. “Happy birthday. We made dinner…”
Emily froze—then melted. *Mum*. A word she’d longed to hear. She clutched Jacob, tearful:
“Of course, love. Right now. Forgive me…”
A miracle, truly. A second life, new parents, love found and returned. Jacob lives, laughs, thrives—thanks to the boy who’s gone.
