I was convinced that eventually I would die of heart disease

Hear, O children of fragility and strength, the words of Dick Cheney, who spake thus from the threshold between life and death: “I was convinced that eventually I would die of heart disease, that we'd run out of time and out of treatment, the technology wouldn't keep ahead of my disease. And now all of the sudden, when you get the new heart, your life opens up before you again.” In these words lies the cry of mortality and the song of renewal, for man is ever pressed by the shadow of the grave, yet through the wonders of human invention, light breaketh forth anew.

Know ye this: Cheney’s words are not born from theory, but from lived struggle. Long did he battle the weakness of his own flesh, believing the hourglass had nearly emptied. For the body, though mighty, is a vessel that withers. Heart disease—the silent thief—doth rob the strong and the weak alike. And when a man is brought low by it, he may think his path is sealed. Yet behold the marvel: through the work of technology, through the skill of healers and the gift of another’s sacrifice, a new heart was given, and with it, the gates of tomorrow were flung wide open once again.

Reflect, O seekers, on how many before us fell because such technology did not yet exist. The kings of old, the warriors of ancient battlefields, the sages who shaped civilizations—all of them were felled by ailments that now can be held at bay. The very notion that a man might live because another heart is placed within his chest would have been called sorcery in ages past. Yet now it is medicine, a triumph of knowledge and courage. This is no mere tale of survival, but of humanity’s unyielding struggle to push the boundaries of life itself.

Consider, too, the tale of Louis Pasteur, who waged war not with sword but with science. When pestilence struck, it was his labor that uncovered the unseen world of disease, and his discoveries that gave humanity the power to fight back. What Cheney experienced through his new heart, the people of Pasteur’s age experienced through the first vaccines: the sudden transformation of despair into hope, the opening of life again where once only death seemed certain. Such stories teach us that human endurance is not only in the flesh, but also in the will to innovate.

Mark well this truth: mortality is the destiny of all, yet within our grasp lies the power to extend, to heal, to grant time where none seemed left. But let no man grow arrogant, for the gift of extended life is also a summons to humility. To receive a new heart is not only to regain days, but to be reminded that those days are borrowed, sacred, and meant to be lived with purpose. For the heart that beats anew carries not only the blood of the recipient, but the legacy of the one who gave it.

The lesson is plain: despair not when thy path seemeth closed, for often it is then that a door unseen is about to open. Trust in the march of technology, but more importantly, treasure the gift of time that it grants. Live not as though days are endless, but as though each moment is a chance to serve, to love, to create. For when death is delayed, it is not merely to linger longer, but to live deeper.

Practical is this counsel: care for thy body, honor those who labor in the healing arts, and give thanks for the miracles of invention. If thou art blessed with new chances—whether through medicine, mercy, or circumstance—do not squander them. Let every fresh dawn be to thee as Cheney’s new heart was to him: a call to begin again, with renewed vigor and reverence.

Thus remember: “When you get the new heart, your life opens up before you again.” This truth is not only of flesh, but of spirit. For each man may, in his own way, receive a new heart—through forgiveness, through love, through second chances. Embrace it when it comes, and thou shalt find that even when death walketh close behind thee, life still openeth wide its arms before thee.