Atlanta, GA
February 1, 2026
Certain scenes stay with you forever. And many of those last only a few seconds. Tonight sent us several.
We joined an “organ walk” for an eighteen year-old girl who’d died earlier in the day. I didn’t know what to expect.
Also known as an “Honor Walk”, these processions of gratitude have increased in frequency, and are held by hospitals when requested or approved by an organ donor’s family.
Available staff join friends and relatives to honor the benefactor as she’s wheeled from her room, down the corridor, onto an elevator, and out of the hospital.
The parents of the deceased invited us a few hours before the proceedings began, and just after they’d relayed their horrible news.
Lengthening Line
We picked up a friend and drove to the hospital. I dropped the ladies at the front entrance, and found a place to park. Then I wound my way toward the ward. It took a while.
As with most large medical facilities, this one was a labyrinth of halls, passageways, aisles, and cloisters that always return you to the place you started.
As I tried to find where I needed to be, I passed a queue of about twenty people approaching a small desk. A few minutes later, I wound up at the same spot. But now the line was twice as long.
Many in it were high school or college age girls. Remembering who we were honoring, I realized this was probably the line I needed to join.
By the time I reached the front, I realized I was right. When I looked back, the line had tripled in length, extending around a bend a hundred yards back.
But I still hadn’t found my wife. After I checked in, she texted for me to come to the sixth floor.
After another ten minute hike, I found the elevator. I emerged to hundreds of people lining either side of a winding hall that had no end. Fortunately, I found my wife not far from the doors.
Somber, Reflective, and Heartbroken
As the crowd thickened, nurses suggested some of us go downstairs. Dozens of us piled onto employee lifts, and rode down one level. Down another corridor we went, thru throngs of bereaved on either side.
It was astonishing. At least 400 people were crowded into long hallways on those two floors. I felt like we were seeking spots in a parade. If only we were.
This audience was somber, reflective, and heartbroken. Which makes sense. A wonderful family had lost a darling daughter. Her parents are among the finest people anyone could meet, which is why fire codes were tested by the number of mourners who’d gathered to console them.
As throngs started to stand two-deep along constricted corridors, more of us would need to be moved. Nurses guided us to the Main Level, where we again took our place along the wall.
With those around us we shook hands and shared hugs. In whispered tones, we made small talk while we waited. Most was of the usual variety. We asked about kids, talked about the weather, and lamented the dreadful reason we were all here.
And we marveled at the crowd, and what its size said about the family who’d suffered this unspeakable loss.
Sense of Awe
Suddenly, the elevator bell was our signal to be silent. When the doors opened, a gurney came out. On it was an angel who’d gone to God.
Escorting her was her adoring family. They kept moving, but with poise, purpose, and heads held high.
Thru intermittent sobbing several hours after their daughter’s death, the parents thanked us for being there as they pushed their child down the hall. A sister and two brothers distinguished themselves by their poignant dignity.
Within minutes, the gurney reached exterior doors that slid open… and allowed the bereaved to leave. In their wake, tissues came out, and none of the multitude said a word.
Among attendees, eyes swelled, tears flowed, and embraces were exchanged. Sniffles and sobs were the only sound. Groups of teenage girls huddled together to weep in sympathy as they sought to make sense of what they’d seen.
But over the hall hung a sense of awe.
How special must a family be to attract such sympathy? What elicited this solace was obviously awful. Yet hundreds of people don’t descend on a hospital with several hours notice if the people they’re consoling haven’t made significant impact on a large number of lives.
Most would simply send a card. But this group wanted to be here. And if you knew the afflicted, you’d know why.
As the crowd dispersed, it witnessed another reason they came. The departed angel’s father returned to the hospital, and hugged everyone he could.
With unfathomable grief came incomprehensible gratitude. Through this girl God acted, and gave her father the strength to be an inspiration.
JD
So many thanks for your compassionate and moving post.
It's comforting to read that many parts of society still are cohesive and highly respectful.
There is still hope ... 🤞🤞🤞