By JOHN VAN VLEET

Hungry Horse News

A small metallic pin, white and shaped like a football, stuck out of Mike Van Leuven's hat as he pointed to his cloudy right eye and explained what it meant.

In light blue print, the number 100 sprawled across the shiny surface, celebrating the centennial anniversary of the world's first cornea transplant.

For him, the pin held special significance because he was the recipient of a cornea, a gift from an organ donor that suffered from a fatal brain aneurysm just days earlier.

On Dec. 10, 2002, while working at Reddig Equipment, a 20-ton hydraulic bottle jack swung out of control and smashed into Van Leuven's eye, shattering his socket, sending the retina into his nasal cavity and robbing his sight, launching him into months of surgeries, recovery and seeing a colorless void.

"When I first lost my sight, the only thing I could see was my nose," he said. "It was all gray."

He continued to work after the injury, struggling to weld metal parts together with one good eye, seeing with little to no depth perception. With an unsteady hand and failing sight, he questioned how safe those welds would be.

In March of last year, after numerous retinal re-attachment surgeries, he left his job and was placed on worker's compensation. At the time, he said it was the right decision because he could never live with himself if someone died due to a faulty weld.

He needed a cornea replacement to regain his vision, something that is fairly common in America. Over 46,000 people receive corneas each year, and Van Leuven was on the short list to receive one.

He just didn't think it would be his wife's.

On May 8, 2004, Robin Van Leuven hadn't felt well for several days and her husband thought she was suffering from the flu. Her lungs sounded congested, her head ached severely and she said she was nauseous.

"She was sick for a few days," Van Leuven explained. "She just didn't feel good. We took her to the hospital at four o'clock in the afternoon."

Once at the hospital, her headaches intensified and she acted abnormally, growing disoriented and confused. She complained of a sharp pain in her head, and when her mental faculties suddenly failed, she couldn't even recognize the face of her own husband.

"I got up, grabbed her hand and was talking to her," Van Leuven said. "She pulled away and said 'who are you?'"

As a blood vessel ruptured at the base of her skull along the brain stem, Robin Van Leuven lost control of her mind, and in turn, lost control of her body. Her fists and legs clinched in spastic movements, she hyperventilated and her eyes shifted, pointing in opposite directions, focusing on nothing.

Van Leuven knew his wife was having a stroke, but he couldn't do a thing about it. He followed Robin as they wheeled her through the hospital doors, hooked her up to ventilator machines and tried to save her life.

"She went out and never came back," he said. "It's about like someone reached in and pulled out your heart."

Around 11 p.m., another massive stroke rocked her brain and she was pronounced dead minutes later.

Mike and Robin Van Leuven dated while attending Columbia Falls High School and were married after graduation. The high school sweethearts settled comfortably in town and were involved in many activities through the years, mostly involving their two children.

They were devoted to one another, and Mike appreciated the little things about his wife's personality, the things he said he misses the most.

"She meant the world to me," he said. "We did a lot of stuff together, we did quite a bit as a family. She was very outgoing and extremely straight forward. She would tell you exactly what she thought. She had an ornery streak when she wanted it."

That year, their son Jacob was busy wrestling - with Robin cheering from the sidelines and Mike coaching on the mat.

Their daughter Kalene was off to live in Missoula and work at the Missoulian, busy creating her own life with a steady job and serious boyfriend - a life familiar to her parents and one they spoke of with pride.

The Van Leuvens had been together for nearly 28 years - married for 23 - and Mike said they were content watching their children grow and prosper.

As teenagers, Mike went with Robin to get her driver's license and she signed up to be an organ donor, something he adamantly opposed at the time, thinking it sacrilegious and wrong.

"It was more important to her than it was for me," he said. "I was against it because of the way I was brought up. I believed you needed to be buried whole."

Since his wife's death, Van Leuven wears a neon green wristband every day with the words "Donate Life" imprinted on it.

But even before Robin's liver, other cornea and kidneys were given away, Mike's beliefs and priorities had changed considerably.

It was after he began volunteering as a firefighter and a member of the North Valley Search and Rescue squad that his views shifted and he could see first-hand the positive impact transplanted organs can have on a flawed or injured body.

Now, he preaches the benefits of organ donation as he watches the world through the cornea of his late wife. Though it might be a little blurry in places and he still has problems with depth perception, his wife's generosity helped him regain one of his senses.

"One person can help so many people," he said. "I really think everyone should be an organ donor."

After her mother passed away, Kalene said she was relieved that Robin's organs were used to help others and extend lives.

"I think it was a good thing," she said. "I was really glad that nobody really questioned if she wanted to donate her organs."

As for her mother's take on the donation, Kalene said she would probably make a joke, as she did frequently, and say to her husband, "don't say I didn't ever give you anything."

In a hospital bed in Seattle, just hours after Robin's funeral, Mike prepared himself to receive one of her donated corneas. Already scheduled for a transplant in June, he said he didn't think twice about taking part of his wife's eye, if only so that a small piece of her could live on with him.

It would also be the first documented case in history where a person received cornea tissue from a spouse - and that's when the Seattle press discovered the story.

Before the surgery, reporters descended upon Van Leuven's bed, asking him the same questions he's now been asked thousands of times. Still shell-shocked from Robin's sudden death, Mike said the experience was "a little weird," collecting those 15 minutes of fame for having a part of his wife placed in his body.

After the surgery was deemed a success, the national media embraced the story and Van Leuven turned into a national advocate for organ donation.

He appeared on NBC's "Today" show, a PBS radio show and an afternoon talk show in Seattle. The story also ran on the front page of The Seattle Times, the Hungry Horse News and dozens of other newspapers.

Van Leuven was told that his story reached an estimated 12 million households, but he said all he wanted out of the exposure and fame was for others to benefit from organ donations the way he has.

"It kind of pushed the organ donation part of it," he said. "It did help one, it could help millions."

Coping with the loss of his wife has been a slow process, but Van Leuven said he plows forward, careful not to lose himself in the pain of the past.

"Life goes on," he said. "God knows I miss her, but life goes on."

This Mother's Day was the one year anniversary of her death, something that tore at Mike's heart, but also a sort of stepping stone for him. He said if he could get through that day intact, he "could get through anything."

He sat alone that day, watching old family videos of her and his appearances on television. At one point he said he broke into tears, submerged in the memories of her. But somehow, he said, he got through it and pushed on.

Watching his teenage son Jacob struggle with the loss of his mother has been especially difficult as well. His son's constant support system was disrupted, and Mike said he has noticed a distinct change in his personality.

Jacob wrestled growing up, enamored with the World Wrestling Federation. Robin, who attended all his matches, would be the comforting hand on his shoulder after a defeat and the supporting voice lauding his efforts after a victory.

After his mother's death, Jacob stopped wrestling.

Kalene said that she has seen a complete shift in their home life, watching from two hours away as her brother struggles to find his way without his mother.

"It's kind of like what we grew up in has turned 180 degrees," she said. "My dad's not doing well keeping himself together … -It's harder on my brother because he doesn't have a solid family to be around."

She said she also understands her father's difficulties trying to live without the one that had meant so much to him for so long.

"They were together since they were in high school," she said. "I think a lot of it is he just didn't know what to do with himself. He never really lived on his own."

Now, a full year after that trying month in 2004, the family is slowly putting their lives back together.

Mike's new cornea has allowed him to partially see again and Jacob is a student at Columbia Falls High School, only a few years away from graduation.

Kalene still lives in Missoula, is engaged to be married to the same man she was dating last year and is excited about her future. But she also knows that the past year has been trying for their family, even if it is left unspoken at times by her dad and brother.

"I know especially right around Mother's Day this year, it was really hard on them," she said. "I think they tend not to express it as much."

Still, despite the advances and detours in his life, Van Leuven said that he wouldn't be able to see without his wife's gift, wouldn't be able to experience the beauty of nature without her and emphasized that he would never be able to forget her.

"Every time I look in the mirror, I see her," he said. "Every time I see a robin, I think about her."