Marrow by Elizabeth Lesser Page A

maddening habit of disappearing minutes before it’s time to depart, overcome with the sudden need to purchase a pack of gum. While we have never missed a flight, we’ve come close, and we’ve come even closer to my flying off without him. I think that’s why he asks me to watch his bag.
    â€œI will not watch your bag,” I repeat, “and you will not leave.” I hold onto his arm. “See?” I point to the travelers gathering at the gate. “We’re about to board the plane. We need this vacation.”
    At that very moment my cell phone rings. I take it out of my purse, see the name of the hospital, and brace for awful news. I show the caller ID to my husband. He sits down.
    It’s the bone marrow transplant coordinator calling to tell methat the lab results for all the sisters have come back. “I have good news!” the nurse says. She seems overjoyed to be the bearer of positivity. I can only imagine how rare this is for her.
    â€œWe found a match for Maggie,” she exclaims. “Are you sitting down? It’s you!”
    I’m too stunned to reply.
    â€œAnd there’s even better news,” the nurse continues. “You’re a perfect match! All ten genetic markers lined up with Maggie’s.” She begins explaining the science of genetic tissue testing, but I tune her out. My mind goes in several directions at once: Did I imagine I would be perfectly matched with Maggie? No, not really. If I had to guess, I would have picked one of the other sisters. I wonder if they’ll be jealous, or maybe they’ll be relieved, or probably both. I wonder if it’s dumb luck that we’re perfectly matched, or is it fate, kismet, karma? It feels preposterous—like a science fiction story. Or maybe it’s a miracle. I’m not sure who gets to determine such things, but this feels like a miracle to me. I wonder what Maggie thinks.
    â€œDoes Maggie know?” I ask the nurse.
    â€œYes. I just spoke with her. She says you should go on vacation and call her later.”
    I sense the presence of someone behind me and turn around to see who’s there. No one. But then I feel it again. I look, but no one is there. Everyone else has lined up to board the small aircraft. I finish the call, take my husband’s hand, and we follow the others across the tarmac and into the plane. We find our seats, the plane takes off, and my husband leans back and closes his eyes. But I just sit there, hearing the transplant coordinator’s voice replaying in my mind, over and over: “I have good news! We found a match for Maggie! It’s you!”
    â€œWow,” I whisper to myself. “Wow.” That’s the most I can come up with.
    And then I feel it again—as if someone is behind me, trying to get my attention. I turn and look over the top of the headrest. The seats behind us are empty. So I turn back, lean against my husband, and close my eyes too. And that’s when I see them—my parents. As clear as if they were on the plane with us, I see my mother and father. They smile at me and nod their heads in some sort of silent agreement. They were never ones to dole out praise or thanks, and they don’t do that now. They do something better—they dare me to hope.
    I keep my eyes shut and remain as still as I can. I don’t want my parents to go away. I want them to tell me something, to explain their sudden presence, to explain the bone marrow match. I wait. They remain with me. And then I imagine words floating out of their spirit mouths.
    â€œWe loved you girls into being,” they say.
    â€œOur love gave Maggie her life the first time,” my father says.
    â€œYour love can give her a second life,” my mother says.
    And then I understand. I may not know for sure about fate or karma or miracles, but I’m sure about love. My eyes fill with tears.
    â€œWow,” I whisper to my father and