74
Griff
Through the glass panel in the door, I can just make her out: Lisa, asleep in the hospital bed, her face soft against the
on her once more, to say goodbye.
She’s in her early fifties, but she looks like a young adult again—the weak, scared, lonely girl who needed me when Mum died.
Not just to protect her, but to see her and love her too. A woman who lost her best friend to early-onset Alzheimer’s, then
stood by her ratbag of a brother as he succumbed to the same fate. Even when he’d pushed her away and withheld forgiveness.
Turns out food is love. And Lisa has been feeding it to me—quietly, fiercely, one Anzac biscuit at a time. “Ratbag” is too nice a word.
The light in the room has been dimmed, yet I’ve never seen her so clearly. I look at her face, and for the first time, I feel
no resentment and see no trace of her father, or my mistake. Only our beautiful mother.
“You should tell her, Griff,” pleads Frank.
I shake my head. “It wouldn’t help her.”
He glances at the nurse. “Can it really be anonymous?”
She hesitates. “I’ll admit, it’s highly irregular and not our usual recommendation. But with the recently revised guidelines
in light of the national donor shortage and her agreeing to anonymous donation, the ethics committee has signed off.”
Frank folds his arms. “You’re asking a lot. For me to conceal this.”
“I know.” My chest heaves. “And I hate that. You weren’t supposed to be dragged into it. I didn’t expect to bump into you. Please, Frank, I’m not going to force you—but if you can let her have this without knowing where it came from, then I’ll be forever grateful.”
“I don’t know how I can, it’s too big.”
“I wish I was a better man, Frank, and there was some other solution, but this is the only way I can do it. The thing is,
I’m afraid that if she finds out she may not even accept my kidney.”
His face softens. For the first time, I think he sees it—not just the lie, but the fear underneath. “Yeah.” The pushback has
dropped from his voice. “You may be right about that. But she’s stronger than you assume. Don’t you think she’d want to know,
that she deserves to know?”
“I think she shouldn’t have to carry it. Not the truth, not me. She’s finally starting to live without all of it. I don’t
deserve her in my life.”
He exhales. Doesn’t agree but doesn’t walk away either. And that’s enough.
The nurse checks her watch. “A member of the transplant team will be in touch tomorrow to get things started.”
Frank grabs my shoulder. “Thank you, Griff. I can’t say I agree with your methods, but you’re a lifesaver—literally. And for
that I won’t say anything.”
No one has ever called me a lifesaver before. For most of my life, I’ve believed the opposite—that I wreck things just by
existing.
“I know it’s been only a few months,” Frank adds, “but your sister has become everything to me.”
I nod. “I had one of those once. An everything. I’d have given my kidney to save him.”
“You gave your mind instead, didn’t you?” Frank says softly.
My legs buckle, and I collapse into the chair outside her room. Frank takes a seat next to me, draping his arm around my shoulder.
We stay that way, saying nothing, and I’m sad I never got to be a man who makes Lisa happy, or truly get to know the one beside
me who does.
The following morning, I’m trussed into a bum-flashing hospital gown and settled into a clinical bed that feels far too familiar.
Frank pops in to wish me well before they wheel me down the hall.
The crisp sheets rustle beneath me as we pause to let a woman on a mobility scooter pass.
Through an open doorway, I spot Lisa talking to a nurse with a clipboard, a paper surgical cap on her head.
My eyes sting. My little “Sue” chef. For the briefest moment, I second-guess myself.
I want to call her name, to reach for her.
But no sound comes, we keep moving, and the chance slips quietly away.
A week or two from now, once she’s had some recovery time, I’ll instruct Allison to tell her I’ve died. Let that be the last
lie. The only one that might actually help.