“I like your haircut,” my colleague said as our paths merged on the way out of the hospital. “Thanks,” I smiled automatically, though I was surprised to hear the compliment since I cut my mid-back length locks off down to a short natural a year and a half prior. Clearly, it had been a while since we’d seen each other.
“How’s your sister doing?” I said, remembering the last time we did.
“She’s doing great. Thanks for asking,” he beamed. His eyes twinkled beneath bushy strawberry blond brows. Much different from before.
Before, Kyle’s eyes squinted beneath brows furrowed in worry for his sister. She was considering donating a kidney to her husband, but Kyle wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
“Would you be willing to talk to her?” he’d asked then. He knew I had donated a kidney, though I don’t recall telling him.
“Of course,” I said without hesitation and went on to tell him about my experience. How I felt before donating. He needed a kidney, I had two. How I felt after donating. I was tired for a few weeks, but if I were one of the rare people born with 3 working kidneys, I’d do it again.
His face relaxed in my conviction, but I never heard from his sister.
“They are a year out now and she and her husband are doing great.”
“Oh, she decided to donate?” I said, catching up. “The last time we talked, she was just thinking about it.”
“Yeah, she did it,” he nodded. “And it was what you said that really convinced her to do it.”
Now I was the one beaming, surprised and happy to hear that my words made a difference. Or had they?
I remembered all the words said to me when I was in her situation. They were less encouraging, but truth be told, it didn’t matter what anybody said. I was going to do it anyway. For all the reasons that spoke to me louder than any of the words. I imagine she felt the same way.
And maybe Kyle was the one who needed the convincing.