Duration vs. Donation

“The measure of a life, after all, is not its duration, but its donation”. -Corrie ten Boom

January 20th is the birth date of my son Ben. He left this earth exactly halfway between his 21st and 22nd years. If he were still living, he would be anticipating his 31st birthday. This year marks the tenth year I’ve not been able to plan a celebration or choose a card to give to him. All these things represent the duration of Ben’s life, or lack of, depending on how you see it.

Upon his death, Ben became an organ donor. This is not exactly what ten Boom meant in the quote above. Becoming an organ donor is certainly a good measure for your life (and the life of those you will save when you do so). However, the donation of our lives is about what we give while we’re here, no matter the duration. These are the things we will be remembered for, yet they’re not things. Our donation is about how we loved our family, friends, and even ourselves. Our donation is what we gave with no expectations of receiving something in return. Our donation is the impression we left on people’s hearts. The donation we make to life does not directly correlate with how long we lived.

2019 is the tenth year of Ben joining the Heavenly realm. I can easily place myself back to year one and could hardly imagine what ten years of life without Ben would be like. I had met other mothers whose sons had been gone for more than five years and I thought they were giants. They impressed me like a first grader meeting a twelfth grader. There was a wow factor in seeing them in a place I knew I would one day be, but I had no clue how I was going to get there. Now that I’m here, it’s definitely surreal and my mindset is not at all what I thought it might be. It’s better.

I have spent nine and half years missing Ben, yet in reality, he has never left me. Nor has he left anyone who loved him or came to know and love him through me or some other connection, after he died. How is this possible? It’s possible because the donation Ben made while he was here remains alive and well. I could write a book as thick as War and Peace about stories of Ben making his presence known. They happen frequently and often come in a rush of multiple people sharing with me in one day. Today was no exception.

I was driving home after a quick errand when the license plate of a car turning in front of me caught my eye. It said “BEER”. I laughed out loud. Anyone who knew Ben or, as I mentioned, came to know him later, knows Ben LOVED beer. One of his infamous quotes to me was, “But Mother, beer is delicious.” Anytime the word “beer” jumps out at me in an unusual way, I know it’s him saying hello. One mile later I made a left turn towards home and spotted five bald eagles soaring above the treetops. It is not uncommon to see an eagle flying solo in this neck of the woods, but five is extraordinary! Hello Ben!

During this brief drive, I received an email notification. It was from a friend I had just mentioned yesterday to some friends I had lunch with. He lives in Alaska and served as an Army Ranger during the Vietnam era. We became friends after Ben died and keep in touch via email. He has honored Ben over the years by hiking solo in places that don’t often see travelers. He sends me pictures of these sacred spots where he connects with Ben’s spirit and honors his life. The photos offer a magnificence of color and clarity most people (including me) have only seen (for the most part) on high definition tv or movie screens. He sent me three stunning pictures of snow covered mountains, water and the greenery of the Alaskan scenery he had recently explored. I had not heard from him in more than a year.

Shortly after I got home, I opened my email and had a message from another friend. She wanted to let me know she had recently finished reading Heart of a Ranger. She is one that came to know Ben through me after he died. She told me how she cried through the final chapters and how much she knows she would have liked Ben because of his mischievous personality. She also shared that she has always checked the box to be an organ donor on her drivers license. Learning the depth of Ben’s story gave her a greater sense of validation of why she has chosen to do so.

I received another email from an acquaintance I recently met thanking me for Ben’s service and his sacrifice in the name of freedom. I then read a message from a cousin on social media that he had just finished reading Heart of a Ranger and felt closer to Ben and me then ever and wanted to ride his motorcycle to Minnesota to be a part of the Ben Kopp Memorial Ride this summer. He lives in California.

These stories are a drop of water in the ocean of love Ben donated while he resided on earth. His spirit is still very much here. His impact has been timeless and will remain as such so long as people continue to share him with the world. Hearing from friends and family about how Ben has, or continues to impact their lives, truly makes my heart smile and warms my soul with all that God created me to be.

The wise mothers that were so far ahead of me in their grief journeys taught me to think backwards in terms of time away from Ben. I do not count the years we have been separated by the veil of Heaven and Earth, I count them as years I am closer to seeing his face again. We have not been apart for ten years, we are ten years closer to being together, for eternity.

By definition, donation means something that is given to charity. More specifically, it refers to money. A life well lived cannot be summed up with a dollar amount. No way. At the risk of sounding cliche, life is priceless. The donation we make is measured by the hearts we touch, not just in the years we lived, but in the years that follow after we leave this earth. In this sense, Ben is still contributing and I see no end in sight. For this reason, I WILL celebrate his birthday because his donation to this life is worth celebrating.

On the memorial pamphlet for Ben’s wake, I chose a piece written by the poet Flavia. Even ten years later, it perfectly sums up his donation.

"Some people give of themselves and never know the depth or breadth of what they have given. Perhaps this is the power of love in its purest form. Because they have touched the core of our being, we have changed and become more. And now, all that we see and feel is measured with a sacred reverence in honor of that love. We come to know that all we see in life is born of this love. Every hope, every joy, every sadness. Every ray of truth and light. Because of this, we are given a deeper understanding of what matters most in this lifetime. For some people come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never, ever the same."  -Flavia

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Ben. You are so very, very loved.