Sam introduced himself as a sixty-three-year-old chemistry teacher who loved football, baseball, and science-fiction movies. He described his wife Carol, their daughter Jenna, and their grandchildren, Lucy and Max, before explaining his illness and the need for a transplant.
He made it clear that he didn’t expect me to become a donor simply because we were related. Although he hoped I would consider testing, he wanted to meet me even if I wasn’t compatible or decided not to participate.
“You don’t owe me anything, Annie. I would still like to meet you, even if all we ever get is one conversation.”
By the time I finished reading, I was crying. I knelt beside Mom’s recliner and embraced her, telling her that the frightened seventeen-year-old girl she had once been deserved compassion rather than lifelong punishment.
She finally allowed herself to cry openly while I held her. Afterward, I completed the cheek-swab test, sealed the samples, and told her to get her coat because we were going to Pittsburgh.
