It was true.
Your life flashed before your eyes when you died. And what a shitty life it had been, filled with broken promises and betrayals.
My whole childhood, my ma and I struggled to get by…
Four years ago, I came home to my girlfriend setting the dining room table, boasting a wonderful surprise…
Twenty years ago, I watched my father walk out the door, promising his love and time…
That memory was particularly brutal, even if I didn’t always acknowledge it. It was the first time I truly understood disappointment. I was only eight, but my father taught me an invaluable lesson. He showed me that a person’s first and foremost loyalty was to himself. Not even blood mattered.
The memories were fewer and further between as I slowly regained consciousness.
My head was pounding, and my stomach felt like it was being ripped out of me. There was a light shining my way. I lifted my head toward it, immediately regretting the decision when the brightness caused another throbbing sensation to shoot through my brain.
Next came the screams.
Then pain. Everywhere.
“Hello? Sir? Are you okay?” The voice was high-pitched and frantic, but definitely a man’s. “Sir?”
What’s going on?
More screams.
More pain.
I wanted to open my mouth. I wanted to let him know… I wasn’t even close to okay. When I tried, I was cut off by another bloodcurdling scream.
God, her screams. The pain sounded excruciating as I struggled to remember what happened.
“Lily, I don’t…” The man sounded torn. The ache in my head was intensifying.
“We’re gonna… oh God, we’re gonna lose her—” she started before letting out a horrifying scream.
“I don’t…” The man trailed off and I heard his pounding footsteps fading as he ran away from me. A moment later the sound returned, and this time his voice carried toward me like a death sentence. “I’m sorry! I have to go… I can’t…” he shouted, his voice sure and filled with purpose.
And then he was running away again, providing me with another memory of a person doing something unforgivable.
I heard the car drive away, leaving me here alone.
To die…
It’s a girl!
Grinning like a fool, I walked down the hospital corridor toward the maternity ward, remembering the words my mom had screamed in my ear when I answered the phone this morning. My smile faltered slightly when I thought of my sister’s troubles, but I shook it off. I needed to focus on the positives. My beautiful nineteen-inch, six-pound-and-nine-ounce niece, Mirielle, was doing better. I heard the relief in my mother’s voice when she relayed how my sister was beside herself with joy when she held her daughter for the first time.
I looked down at the four balloons wrapped around my wrist—three pink and one yellow—before squeezing the giant teddy bear in my other arm closer to my chest. I couldn’t think of anyone who deserved to be a parent more than my big sister.
Calla was five years older than me, but she never treated me like the annoying little sister. Not when Mom made her pick me up at a friend’s house. Not when she had to miss parties to babysit me. Not even when I raided the makeup on her vanity and broke her favorite bottle of perfume.
I never felt unwanted around her. She was like a mother to me, not because ours was lacking—our mother was wonderful. Calla just had that way about her. She was born to be somebody’s mother. Mirielle was one lucky baby.
My smile widened with each person I passed, and I couldn’t help but pick up my pace. I had just turned a corner when I came to an abrupt stop. A man and woman stood in the middle of the hallway about fifteen feet away. He was clearly a doctor—dressed in maroon scrubs and a black cap, with a mouth mask pulled down around his neck—and she must have been a patient’s family member based on how exhausted she looked, apparent even from here.
He only stood about half a foot above her and was filled out like he took care of himself, which made sense since he was a doctor. I’d be in excellent shape too if I knew all that could go wrong. I quickly glanced down at my slight pooch, something my solo Taco Tuesday parties were most certainly responsible for.
Shaking my head, I lifted my gaze back to them. The woman looked like she took care of her body too, but somehow she seemed especially frail and tiny in comparison to the doctor. Her black pants and gray sweatshirt appeared slept in and the brown knot of hair on her head had definitely been pulled at a few times.
“He’s my baby boy!” she wailed, clutching her chest as it heaved with sorrow. My lips immediately dipped down into a frown and my eyes quickly filled with sympathetic tears. The doctor tried to keep his face impassive and professional, but I could see a crack in his demeanor, a break in his heart. There was no way to watch this grieving mother without feeling something.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your son has experienced extensive renal trauma, and our only option right now is dialysis. He’ll eventually need a new kidney, without one—”
“He’ll die? My son will die?”
The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder; all pretenses of impartiality were gone as he lowered his face toward hers. And even though I knew it was wrong, I inched forward.
“Ma’am, there is plenty of time, and there are a few different options. Some patients live on dialysis for years. The important thing to focus on right now is that he’s stable and all his other injuries will heal. He should be waking up shortly.” He offered her a soft smile.
I looked on with blurry vision at this mother so desperate to save her son. Glancing down at the stuff in my hands, I felt my expression morph into a glare, like somehow the cheerful presents were responsible for this woman’s suffering.
I lifted my head in time to see her eyes widen, her stare moving past the doctor. “Oh God… I’m—I’m not going to be a mother anymore.”
The doctor didn’t offer her any more words. He simply wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder, her face aimed my way.
My heart broke into a thousand pieces.
I recognized the look in her eyes. Fear. Complete and soul-consuming fear.
The doctor may have told her that her son had time, but that wasn’t what she heard. When you were going through a trauma, when you were so distraught you could barely stand—like how she was leaning on the doc—you only heard fragments of what someone was telling you. You only listened to the bits that reconfirmed your fears, justifying your reactions. Everything else was lost.
Fear, and a deep love like that, could lead to desperation. I’d seen it. I’d lived it.
“Paging Dr. Moore,” a voice announced over the PA system. The doctor seemed torn as he gazed down at the broken woman in his arms before glaring at the speaker in the corner. After his name was called once more, he regretfully pulled away and told her he had to leave.
“Okay,” she whispered. He gave her shoulders one more squeeze before walking away. A waft of air hit me as he passed by and I stared after him. Dr. Moore hesitated at the end of the hall, only a couple of feet away from me, unable to stop looking at the woman. When his eyes caught mine, he gave me a brisk nod and hurried away.
My gaze moved back to her. She was stumbling away, blindly slapping the wall as she walked in the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure what compelled me forward, but I followed her.
Thankfully I was wearing my Keds instead of something impractical and noisy, although I was pretty sure a bomb could explode and she wouldn’t hear it. Grief did that—it dulled all the other horrible things. Her own personal bomb had detonated and nothing could compare.
She paused in front of a door, her hand on the knob and her head bent, like she was gathering strength to go inside. I skirted back around the corner. It felt wrong to spy on this woman, but I wanted to make sure she was okay.
Iris, you idiot, she’ll never be okay again…
This I knew from experience. Because even if you survived a tragedy, it would always be a part of your narrative. The only way to handle a hardship was to make it a part of who you were, with purpose and pride. Taking initiative made sure you were the one weaving it into your story. Not the tragedy. Not the faceless noise coming from all the people trying to help. You. It gave you a power you would’ve otherwise lost.
The only thing we could really control in life was our reactions; everything else was up for grabs.
As for me, I didn’t “let go” of my tragedies, I held on as tight as I could. I forced them into my psyche the way I wanted. And I didn’t “move on,” leaving it all behind. I brought it with me everywhere.
I wondered if this woman would be able to do that…
I stuck my head out and watched her pull the door open before disappearing inside. Snapping out of my daze, I came out of hiding and looked up. It was a chapel.
My family wasn’t overly religious, but we did believe in God and I liked to think we all tried to live in a way that would make a higher deity proud.
I hovered outside for a moment before removing the balloons from my wrist and tying them around one of the bear’s arms. Then I set him down just outside the door and stepped inside. My eyes immediately found her in the empty room. She was sitting in the front row as she crossed herself and began softly praying.
My bravado from seconds earlier faded, and I suddenly felt like I was betraying a deeply private moment. I quickly turned to leave when I ran into a pew, clipping my shin and biting back a wince. Glancing behind me, I cringed. The woman was staring right at me.
Now that I could see more than her profile, I couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. Despite her disheveled appearance, the bluish marks under her eyes, and the devastating way her lips turned down, I could tell she was beautiful. The dark circles didn’t detract from the slight hope shining in her eyes. Nor did her frown take away the prominent laugh lines around her mouth. She was most likely going through the worst moment of her life, but I could tell she would bounce back, that she was one of the good ones who lived life for the happy moments and didn’t dwell on the sad ones.
My brother often told me I overreached, went too far past what was “normal” and made people uncomfortable. I never agreed. But right now, I thought, he might have a point.
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed out before turning to fully face her. I refrained from grabbing my sore leg as I stood tall and walked forward a couple steps.
“It’s all right, dear.” She cleared her throat. “Who are you here for?”
“Pardon?” I choked out.
“What’s the name of the person you’re here for? I’ll include him or her in my prayers.” She tried to smile. And despite her lips never making it up her cheeks, I could see the warmth in her eyes and how genuine she was being.
I knew she was a good one.
“Oh. Umm… n-no one.” My throat suddenly felt dry, guilty for… well, I wasn’t sure. “My sister just had a baby.” This time her smile inched a little higher.
“Congratulations. Children are”—she covered a sob with her hand. When she removed it, she was shaking her head—“a precious gift from God.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Her brows puckered in confusion before rising in question. “I heard you talking to the doctor,” I explained, hitching a finger to the door behind me.
She lowered her head. “I’m sorry for the scene I caused.”
“No, no.” I rushed forward, wincing at the ache in my knee, only to stop a pew behind her. “I didn’t mean… I just… actually, I’m not sure what I meant.”
Her lips pulled even higher as she scooted down and patted the spot next to her. I gingerly sat down to her left and she immediately took my hand with her right one. “Will you pray with me?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed my hand. “What’s your name?”
“Iris.”
“I’m Catherine.” She wrapped her left arm around me. “And what’s your sister and the baby’s name?”
“Calla is my sister, and her daughter is Mirielle.”
“Beautiful names,” she whispered. I smiled and we bowed our heads.
Catherine cleared her throat. “Dear Heavenly Father, Iris and I humbly come to you today, and ask that you watch over our loved ones. Please bless Calla with a speedy and complication-free recovery. May her child, little Mirielle, be graced with health and joy. And…” When she paused I squeezed her hand harder, trying to ground her here and not let the pain take her mind to a dark place. My encouragement seemed to work as she took a deep breath and continued.
“Gracious Father, please send a kidney for my Nicholas. He… he’s all I have, and even if the hospital can keep his body alive, I’m afraid his spirit will be crushed. I do not know your plans; maybe someone else needs one more, maybe Nick needs to experience this, but if he doesn’t, I ask for your mercy. And lastly, bless sweet Iris for checking on a complete stranger. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Amen,” I echoed, feeling more at peace than I was expecting. She disentangled herself from me and crossed herself again. I looked at her and some of the heaviness in her eyes was gone, and her breaths seemed to be coming to her more naturally. Like the act of praying made her life a little bit easier to live in that moment.
“Thank you. That was beautiful.” Tears brimmed in my eyes; she had no idea the effect her words had on me. I’d been trying to stay strong and positive, but truthfully I was a bit shaken.
Calla had been struggling to get pregnant for nearly three years, and when she was diagnosed with preeclampsia a few weeks ago, the entire family had rallied around her. Especially her husband of eight years, Kent.
The doctors were concerned, but she wasn’t far enough along at that point to induce labor. Her husband took her home and made sure she was on strict bedrest, and even though no one doubted she was doing everything in her power to keep herself and the baby safe—her pride wasn’t a factor—we all still worried.
Then last night she started experiencing abdominal pain and blurry vision. Given her condition and the possible complications, it was important that Kent got her to hospital as fast as he did.
They were forced to perform an emergency C-section after Mirielle’s breathing had become too weak. Thankfully they got her out quick enough. The doctors said if Kent had gotten her here even a few minutes later, it might have been too late for Mirielle.
My sister and niece were both stable right now, so I wasn’t immediately concerned, but it would be premature to think we were out of the woods. And this prayer helped more than I thought it would.
“You’re welcome, dear.”
I gazed into two of the most sincere eyes I’d ever seen, still struggling with her own grief while trying to celebrate my joy, and I knew there was only one thing I could do.
“Excuse me,” I said softly to the nurse behind the counter. Catherine was still in the chapel and my sister’s bear and balloons were still sitting outside it.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to Dr. Moore.” I was incredibly grateful I’d had the sense to remember his name.
She nodded and began shuffling pages. “For who?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What patient of his are you concerned with?”
“Oh, I actually don’t know. I met this woman, Catherine, and her son needs a kidney. She’s not a match, and well… it’s a long shot…”
“You want to see if you’re a match? That’s highly irregular and I’m not sure it’s appropriate—”
“I want to see if I can save someone’s life, what’s inappropriate about that?” I asked. She paused and gave me a suspicious look. I sighed. “Could you please tell me where to find Dr. Moore?”
“What can I help you with, miss?” I whipped my head around to the new, deeper voice. It was Dr. Moore. I stepped away from the nurse and noted how his eyes flared in recognition.
“Dr. Moore,” the nurse started. “This isn’t—”
“I’ll handle it from here, Jessica. Thank you.” He tilted his head down the hall and I trailed behind him.
“I’m Dr. Moore.” He held his hand out. “I’m a trauma surgeon in the ER.”
Nodding, I shook his hand. “Iris.”
“How can I help you, Iris?”
“I have an odd request…” I hesitated, even as his eyebrows rose in interest.
Was this too crazy? Was this taking my desire to help people one step too far?
I immediately dismissed those thoughts. Surely there was no limit to kindness. I berated myself for even questioning it.
My mother always said the second you let other people’s perceptions dictate how you lived your life, you lost. And I had no interest in losing who I was. I wanted to be nice and kind. I wanted to go out of my way to help an elderly lady with her groceries, or a middle-aged man who, while rounding up his kids in his minivan, had dropped a soccer ball and groaned in frustration when it rolled away from him.
And I wanted to give Catherine’s son one of my kidneys.
It didn’t have to make sense to anyone else. Well… maybe the doctor, I at least had to convince him.
“I overheard your conversation with Catherine.” I pointed toward the end of the hallway where he had consoled her earlier.
“Yes?” He looked wary now, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.
“I have two kidneys, and you know, you can live with just one.” I slammed my mouth shut; God, I was an idiot when I was nervous.
The doctor’s lips quirked. “Yes, we did go over that once or twice in my training.”
“Right.” I swallowed before closing my eyes, psyching myself up. My eyes flew open as I said, “I want to help him. I want to…”
My lips snapped together as his expression flattened. Even though I hadn’t said the words, he knew what I was going to say. But he gave me absolutely no sign of what he was thinking.
Did he think I was crazy? Was he devising a plan to get me to the psych ward without a scene? Or maybe he thought I was pulling a cruel prank? Maybe he thought I was idealistic and acting on a whim. He could have even been impressed. But I didn’t know; he was frozen and mute. It felt like an eternity before his body relaxed and he spoke again.
“You want to give Mr. Blake one of your kidneys? Is that what you’re saying, Ms.…?”
“Chamberlain,” I filled in. “And yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”