Dolores passed away in 2016, just short of a decade after her transplant. I wrote this after a meeting with her in 2012, and I've updated the post after seeing her picture pop up on my FB this morning. While my perspective has changed in some ways, the sentiments are the same.
I had the privilege of meeting Dolores Lenc, the woman who received Mandy’s lungs after her passing. We met for lunch in Cookeville while she and her husband were visiting Nashville. Since she lived more than nine hours away, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Dolores was a kind and lovely 68-year-old woman who was married for over 45 years. She had two sons, six grandchildren, and a schnauzer puppy she absolutely adored. Some of you may remember the story we shared on WATE in 2010 about Dolores and David Wyatt, the kidney/pancreas recipient. Although we had corresponded via email before that, that day was only our second face-to-face meeting.
Dolores carried a heavy burden of survivor’s guilt, something many transplant recipients, including David’s father, experienced after their transplants. It’s a common struggle for those who receive such life-saving gifts, especially when they know their donors were young, healthy individuals with their whole lives ahead of them—like Mandy. As soon as Dolores saw me that day, she burst into tears. Her thoughts immediately turned to our loss—the pain of all the moments we’ll never share with Mandy—and it was all she wanted to talk about.
Of course, we talked about other things too: her surprise six-month-old granddaughter, her deep love for her family, and the daily routines that filled her life. We also discussed the health challenges that come with being a transplant recipient. She asked about Mandy—what she was like—and cried as I shared stories about her. It pained me to see Dolores struggle so much. I wanted her to embrace the “extra” time she’s been given and find joy in the miracle that Mandy’s lungs were a perfect match for her. She told me at that meeting that her transplant surgeon described Mandy’s lungs as the healthiest he had ever transplanted and was confident the surgery would succeed. During our visit, I found myself focused on comforting and reassuring Dolores, leaving little room to process my own emotions until later.
On my drive home, I reflected deeply on the experience. What I wanted most in that moment was to place my hand on Dolores’ chest and marvel at the fact that the lungs sustaining her life once kept Mandy alive for 18 years. It’s nothing short of miraculous! Yet even as I recognize this miracle even today, I can’t help but grieve why those lungs no longer belong to Mandy. I do know that the recipients we were lucky enough to know, Dolores, Jim, and David, embraced their second chance at life and used it to make a positive impact every single day.
I often think about how people navigate circumstances beyond their control and find meaning in them over time. Those reflections resonate deeply with me. David and I have worked tirelessly to find meaning in Mandy’s death—though I’m not sure we’ve done anything ourselves to create that meaning. Instead, it is through seeing how many lives Mandy touched in both life and death that we’ve found some solace. While this doesn’t bring her back to us, it does allow us to see how something beautiful can emerge from unimaginable pain.
I know these struggles will remain with me for the rest of my life. But my hope is that we can use our journey to encourage others—to show them strength in navigating loss and pain—and remind them that even in difficult times, connection and understanding can help us move forward.
