My baby Reese started screaming and I struggled to hold him in my arms as we pushed our way through the crowd to the side of the taekwondo (跆拳道) studio, where I would send my boy for the training.

I looked up, and that is when I saw the photo on a poster, a woman with a bright white smile surrounded by her daughters. “OUR MOM NEEDS A KIDNEY (肾脏),” it said above the photo. “My name is Vonchelle Knight, and I have polycystic kidney disease,” it said below. “I am a single mother of two girls and have been on the transplant waitlist for eight years.”

As I continued to read, I thought about how desperately this momma needed a kidney. And then the idea struck me. I wanted to donate my kidney to the woman whom I had never met.

On the drive home, I told my husband I wanted to donate my kidney to a stranger. By the look on his face, he clearly thought I had lost my mind. I was a busy mom of two boys working a full-time job as a sales account manager. I had a calendar filled with sporting events, group fitness and volunteer church hours.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked. I was excited and slightly terrified as I explained the poster. I told him I wanted to at least call Vonchelle’s nurse and get more information.

Several weeks later, the results were in. We were a perfect match! The nervous excitement filled my body. Thoughts swirled in my head as I realized I had the ability to give this momma a new lease on life. Vonchelle had already waited eight years and obviously didn’t have any family members who could donate.

I told my husband that the doctor could do the transplant on January twenty-fifth. His eyes filled with tears as he stared at me and nodded. Vonchelle’s daughter worked at my son’s taekwondo studio, so I shared the news with her.

One day before the donation, the doctors scheduled me to meet Vonchelle.

As she walked through the door of the meeting room, I walked up to her, my heart beating wildly.

After the successful transplant, Vonchelle was recovering well.

On a Friday evening in December, two weeks before Christmas, I lost my job. I hadn’t seen it coming. I was excited for the weekend, when my daughter, Kristil, then 12, and I planned to get our Christmas tree. Then I listened to my voicemail: “We’re sorry but your work assignment has ended as of today.”   My heart sank.

I wasn’t just a single parent; I was the only parent. My paycheck was survival. The next day as we searched for our tree, I struggled to be cheerful as I eyed each price tag. “Is everything OK?” Kristil asked. “You seem worried.” “I got some bad news yesterday,” I told her. “I lost my job.”   “Oh no,” Kristil said. “Well, I have $100 from Grandma I can give you.”

“Absolutely not,” I told her. On Monday morning, I dropped Kristil at school and set off on my moneymaking pursuits. I headed to the pawnshop (当铺) with a ring that my mother had given me a decade earlier. “Best I can do is $70,” the owner said. “The stones are worthless. We’re only interested in the gold.”

Over the next week, I constantly applied for jobs as my bank account grew smaller. I felt as if the world was closing in on me.

On a weekend afternoon, I dropped Kristil in a wealthy gated community for a birthday party. I watched as she went in, surrounded by all the nice things we couldn’t afford. I drove home defeated.

Back at home, I glanced out the window. It had been snowing on and off all morning wind.

I noticed a small woman with short white hair struggling to open her car door against the

As she got out, I realized it was my old professor, Sister Esther Heffernan. I hadn’t seen her since we’d met for lunch three months ago. I’d first met Sister Esther 10 years earlier when I was her student at Edgewood College in Madison. Kristil was three at the time, and I sometimes took her to class. Sister Esther was understanding and would bring coloring books to occupy Kristil.

I rushed to the front of my building.

When I opened her card, I gasped (喘息) in shock.

My three-year-old son, Charles, has loved watching trucks, cars and all types of vehicles (交通工具) since he could sit up and look around. Charles was a fan of fire trucks, ambulances, garbage (垃圾) trucks and other vehicles which have wheels.

Because of his deep love for anything with wheels, I always made it a point to take him outside to watch garbage trucks drive up and down. Charles loved watching the workers and would get so excited when the drivers beeped the horns (鸣喇叭) at him as they went by. Charles would wave and shyly say, “Thank you.”

There was a particular waste management employee who was extra friendly. Charles was attracted by him, and after we knew his name — Lonnie, Charles talked about him throughout the day. One day, Lonnie rode by and said, “Charles, I promise when this pandemic (流行病) is over, I’m going to let you ride in my truck.” However, we were going to move out of the state about a week later. I had to tell Lonnie the truth.

The next week, we waited for the garbage truck. Finally, late in the afternoon, I heard the loud noise of the truck. I raced to the door, carrying Charles. We did not want to miss seeing Lonnie on our last week in Birmingham. Lonnie stopped the truck and got out. He told me he had some things for Charles — a hat, a yellow safety vest, two toy garbage cans, coloring books and so on. Charles was absolutely excited, especially by the garbage cans, and I was so touched. The next day, Charles and I were playing in the front yard when a man approached me. He said, “I’m Lonnie’s manager, and he has something special planned for Charles. Are you going to be here around 11 am?” I said, “Of course we will.”

At noon, something surprising happened.

Even though we moved out of the state, Charles still misses Lonnie.