What was a life worth? It couldn't be measure as currency or in time, yet it was priceless. The man I loved saved his brother's life by giving his own. Countless others benefited from his death when his organs were harvested. The recipients still had their dreams. Their families were not torn apart because of disease. His life was measured by the number of breaths each recipient took. Closing my eyes, I could still hear his voice, encouraging me to be strong. "The Ringer created miracles," I said. My voice wavered. The pain harbored in my broken soul threatened to stop me from speaking the truth, as I saw it. "They gave me my best friend and then they killed him."