“You are your actions”
Sitting in my small office, the hum of my own business in the background, my mind often wanders back to a phone call that changed everything. I’ve always been a “roll with the punches” kind of person, but this was something else.
Growing up, it was just me and Mom. Dad left before I was even a twinkle in her eye. I didn’t know him, didn’t care to. Mom was everything – strong, wise, and kind. She used to say, “You are your actions.” I carried those words like a treasure, using them to guide me through life’s twists and turns.
When Mom passed away a few years ago, I felt adrift. But I was 30, with a thriving business, all thanks to her. Life seemed pretty straightforward until one evening, my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. The caller, persistent and a bit mysterious, wanted to know my blood type and Rh factor. Weird, right?
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Turns out, the woman on the other end of the line was Daphne, my father’s wife. Yeah, that father – the one who was more a myth than a man in my life. She spilled the beans: my dad had remarried, and they had a son, Dylan, who was just 13 and seriously ill. The kid needed a bone marrow transplant. My dad was out of the question due to his own health issues, and Daphne couldn’t donate for medical reasons. So, they found me.
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I was in a real mess of emotions for a few days. Why should I help a man who was basically a stranger? But Mom’s voice echoed in my head: “You are your actions.” It felt like a test of everything she taught me.
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So, I packed a bag and headed to their town. The whole donation process was pretty quick. I met Dylan, a brave, sweet kid with his whole life ahead of him. Helping him felt right, but it was still surreal. Daphne, overwhelmed with gratitude, kept thanking me between tears. It was a lot to process.
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Before leaving, Daphne asked if I wanted to meet my dad. I hesitated but agreed. In his hospital room, seeing him there, so vulnerable, a flood of emotions hit me. I couldn’t find the words. I just stood there, taking in the sight of the man who was part of me but not part of my life.
As I turned to leave, a wave of clarity washed over me. I realized that this moment wasn’t just about making peace with him; it was about honoring my mom’s teachings in the most profound way. I turned back and, finding my voice, said, “You will never be able to understand why, but I thank you. Goodbye.”
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Walking out of that hospital, I felt a sense of closure. Mom’s words, “You are your actions,” had taken on a new depth. It wasn’t just about my actions; it was about how we respond to the actions of others, how we let them shape us, for better or worse. It was a reminder that our lives are woven from our choices and the choices of those around us. In that hospital room, I didn’t just face my father; I faced a part of myself, and somehow, I came out feeling more whole.
Credit: AmoMama
