Reconciliation

In the midst of the messy fun of preparing breakfast, I managed to answer the buzzing phone. The caller identified herself as Joy. A friend of my ex-partner Alan. She got straight to the point. Explaining it was a matter of life and death. I was the only person who could keep Alan alive.

Of course I was stunned. We hadn't spoken with each other in nine years. Our relationship ended in a most horrible way. I endured many years of physical therapy and counseling from the injuries I sustained from our last night together. A violent one. A result of Alan's alcohol addiction.

Now. Out of nowhere. I was being called on to save the life of this guy who nearly took mine.

Joy told me that Alan had been diagnosed with leukemia. He needed a bone marrow transplant. Family and friends had searched long and hard for many months. With no success for a matching donor. That is until all roads led to me in the most unusual turn of events.

Joy continued this unbelievably gripping story.

On an overcast afternoon in late autumn. As winter was fast approaching. Alan knew it looked bleak. He went to clean out his closet. As a diversion from his pain. In that space he stumbled upon a special memory. A striped softball shirt with my name and lucky #13 across the back.

I wasn't aware that he kept my jersey from that season. It had several blood stains on it. From the injury I got in our championship game many innings ago. I experienced a concussion and needed eleven stitches to close the nasty gash to the right side of my head.

After the ambulance ride, I always assumed Alan threw my shirt away. I'd come to find out that he lovingly held on to this article of clothing. Never washing it. A reminder of how appreciative he was to have me in his life. Through the good times. And the bloody ones.

Perhaps we all see things in a different light when we're pushed to the edge of our existence. In that light came an epiphany. A stroke of ingenuity. A Hail Mary mindset. Alan realized the blood stains had my DNA in it. He rushed my unlaundered shirt over to the medical staff.

The experts told him it was a longshot. I was informed that this wait was the most excruciating one of Alan's life. His Spidey senses though were elevated for some reason. Believing this analysis was going to prove successful. Desperation can make folks do some crazy things.  

Joy said that the lab and medical team came back with a result. My DNA was a perfect match. It was determined. I am the one. The only donor. The one who can help save my ex-partner's life. Everyone was elated. It wasn't over yet. I had to be found. Contacted. And get on board.

The mission fell upon Joy to unite us in this goal. There wasn't much time left. They'd need an answer very soon. Or he'd die. They pretty much exhausted all other possibilities.

After hearing the dire dilemma; I immediately agreed to be the donor. And thus. The life-saving process was started.

On the morning of the procedure to donate my bone marrow, there was a pause in the pre-op room. A last minute surprise. Alan was wheeled next to my bed. It was the first time we had seen each other since all the bad stuff that had occurred. Almost a decade earlier.

He looked at me. I extended my hand. He extended his hand. Taking mine in his. We both smiled. Holding our embrace. Not a word was spoken. It is a beautiful thing. Reconciliation.

However far away we might be. Here's to being together. Once again. Happy Thanksgiving!

This no minor miracle is brought to you by that guy usually with matching socks. That guy between Watson & Crick is Ron Blake. You can donate your own stories of gratitude to him at rblake5551@hotmail.com.