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My daughter's mission to give the gift of life.
The phone call was so unexpected it left me practically speechless.
“Hi, Mom! It’s Crystal.” Crystal was my 26-year-old daughter, calling from Wisconsin. I was on vacation in the Pacific Northwest, at that moment winding along a mountain road near Mount St. Helens. I couldn’t believe my phone even had reception.
“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Crystal said. Something in her voice made me pay attention. “Do you remember my good friend Kasee? From Illinois? She needs a kidney transplant.” My daughter paused. “I’m going to donate one of my kidneys to her.”
I nearly dropped the phone. Thank heaven I wasn’t driving. I was taking this trip with a man I’d been dating awhile. And just thinking about that—my divorce three years before, how hard it had been on my three daughters, especially Crystal, my oldest—filled me with anguish.
She wanted to donate an organ? To someone I’d never met? It sounded like such an ill-considered, impulsive, impractical decision.
Truth was, Crystal was struggling to find her place in the world. She’d dropped out of her Christian college, saying she’d had enough of the strait-laced atmosphere. She’d been drifting for some time, working as a manager at a movie video chain and moving in and out of relationships.
That’s why she was in Wisconsin—following a boyfriend. She was so smart and generous and wonderful. She’d been my rock after the divorce. But I had zero confidence in her judgment about this kidney donation.
“Crystal, that’s quite a decision,” I said, trying to keep the dismay out of my voice. “I think I need some time to mull this over.” Crystal said she understood. Then she had to go.
I spent the rest of the trip analyzing that phone call. What was Crystal thinking? Why was she doing this? Hadn’t I raised her to be sensible?
I thought I had. Until my marriage ended I’d always considered my children healthy and my family life fairly normal.
My husband and I had been high school sweethearts. Our kids had grown up fit and active. Never a major illness, no broken bones, no long hospitalizations. I’d fed them right, taken them to church, taught them good values and prayed for them every day of their lives.
A feeling of disappointment tinged with fear welled up. How could Crystal be so cavalier with that body I’d worked so hard for? Every night I prayed the same prayer, that God would help my children reach their full potential. Donating a kidney to a friend did not sound like a step toward that goal.
Back home, I called Tom, Crystal’s father. He’d already heard the news. “It’s wonderful,” he said. “So unselfish. I’m so proud of her.”
“Tom!” I protested. “Surrendering a perfectly healthy kidney is not a good choice. It shows unwise judgment. We must talk her out of this.”
“Rose, don’t worry. What do you think the chances are of these girls being a donor match? Before we panic, let’s wait for them to be tested.”
I felt a wave of relief. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The odds of these girls being a match were remote. Crystal would make this wonderfully generous offer and that would be it. The next time she and I talked I was much less anxious.
Crystal explained Kasee’s predicament. Her kidneys had been bad since childhood and she’d already had one transplant. Unfortunately, like many donated organs with limited life span, that transplanted kidney was now beginning to fail.
Kasee was currently on a debilitating—physically and financially—dialysis regimen. Eventually even the dialysis would fail to keep up with her body’s needs. It was a tragic story—though, as I tried to remind Crystal gently, it wasn’t our responsibility.
“I’m sure there’s someone out there with a perfectly good kidney for Kasee.” Crystal listened politely, but I could see I wasn’t getting through to her.
Weeks passed. My relationship with the man on the Pacific Northwest trip ended and, after a time, I met another man, a kind, soft-spoken attorney named Wayne. It was around then that Crystal called again.
“Mom! You’ll never believe it. Kasee and I are a match! The doctors said we’re so close it’s like we’re siblings. I told Kasee I knew all along. We’ve always felt like sisters. This confirms it. I think the surgery will be in the next few months.”
The thought of my little girl having surgery filled me with dread. I tried all my arguments one last time. Crystal remained unmoved. A note of vulnerability entered her voice. “Mom, please. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to do this. What I need right now is not arguing. I need your support. I need you to be with me.”
I couldn’t just ignore that plea. I disagreed wholeheartedly with Crystal’s decision. But she was my daughter and she was asking for help. I told her I would support her.
The surgery was scheduled at a hospital with a major transplant center in Peoria, Illinois. As the day approached I stuck by my promise to Crystal. Inwardly, though, I was still opposed, hoping something might intervene or that she might change her mind.
At the same time, things between Wayne and me grew more serious and we made plans to marry. One thing I was thankful for—Crystal really seemed to like Wayne. She looked up to him. Listening to the two of them talk about law was like flashing back to the old Crystal, the girl who’d planned to finish college and loved engaging her brain.
The day before the surgery Crystal met Wayne and me in Bloomington-Normal, Illinois, where Kasee lived, and together we drove to Kasee’s apartment to pick her up. The moment Kasee came to the door my heart went out to her. She was a sweet-faced girl with red hair and freckles, a little puffy and tired from all her dialysis—three sessions per week by that point, each session lasting three hours. She was thanking everyone—Wayne and me for being there, Crystal for her great gift.
We stayed over that night in Bloomington-Normal and drove early the next morning to the hospital, where Kasee’s mother would meet us. We arrived before sunrise and spent hours in a waiting room. Kasee’s mother joined us and sat quietly with Kasee, saying little. I wondered why she was so silent.
Finally the girls were wheeled off and we were ushered into another waiting room with a screen showing status updates of each surgery currently underway. When the girls’ numbers came up I gripped Wayne’s hand and prayed my best prayers, trying to live in that moment when the surgeon would tell me everything was fine.
I was focused on these prayers when I heard a noise. I turned and saw that Kasee’s mom had moved to a far corner of the waiting room, facing away from us. I stared a moment, not sure what she was doing. Then I realized. She was crying. Sobbing so hard her body shook. I stared uncomfortably, a sudden wave of guilt and compassion washing over me.
In an instant I saw our whole situation from someone else’s point of view. Kasee’s point of view. Her mother’s. Here I was, wearing myself out with worry because my healthy daughter was donating a kidney. What about Kasee’s mom?
What had she gone through watching her daughter endure years of struggle? And now she awaited the outcome of surgery that could save her daughter’s life. How could I have doubted the wisdom of Crystal’s decision?
I was still reeling from this revelation when the surgeon emerged. The operation had gone without a hitch. Crystal would be ready for visitors in an hour. Kasee would take longer.
I spoke briefly to Kasee’s mom, then ran with Wayne to the recovery room. Crystal awoke not even realizing the surgery had taken place. I drank in the sight of her, loving her as I had the day she was born. “You’re my hero,” Wayne told her.
His words proved true in more ways than one. The surgery had a profound effect on Crystal.
Kasee made a perfect recovery and very soon was looking and feeling transformed. A local TV news station filmed a series about the girls. Crystal came to live with Wayne and me while she convalesced and soon decided not to return to Wisconsin.
Instead, she enrolled at a new college in North Carolina. Inspired by her talks with Wayne, she signed up for business law classes and plans to go for an MBA. She’s making straight A’s and tutoring other kids.
Maybe the bigger change was in me. All these years I’d been asking God to help my children realize their full potential. Now I saw what that could mean.
Yes, I’d invested a lot of work and prayer into growing Crystal’s healthy body. But her potential was so much more than that. In fact, it was something I never fully imagined.
It was Crystal’s turn to decide how to live, and my turn to trust that she knew what she was doing. I think she made a loving, caring decision to help her friend, a decision that would make any mother proud.
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