After a Lifetime of Selflessness, My Mom Now Needs Your Help

UPDATE: Thank you. Thank you to everyone who donated to my mom as she recovers from her liver transplant. It has meant so much to her and our family and has truly touched our hearts.

An update has been long overdue…

After about four weeks in Gainesville recovering, my mom is back home and doing well. The nuisance of taking dozens of pills a day to fight off transplant rejection is well worth the time and new life my mom was gifted.

Walking around is much easier without tens of extra pounds of fluid on her abdomen. And the walker is no longer a must-have now that her legs aren’t constantly ballooning, causing pain, tears and frustration.

While she’s still in pain from healing, she’s grateful — we’re all so grateful — for the doctors, nurses, Grandma Bonnie and Grandpa Lou, and everyone else who has helped her recover since the surgery.

And as for the young woman who so graciously donated her liver to give my mom a new life, we’re forever humbled by your generosity.

My mom jokingly named the liver Lazarus, or Lazzy for short, for bringing her back to life. But the gift — the blessing — is not something that has gone a single day without reflection.

We’re so thankful — forever and always — for Lazzy and the woman who gifted it to my mom. It meant my mom’s liver disease symptoms that plagued her quality of life could cease after years of suffering, and she could live looking forward to what awaits her in her new life.

Thank you all.

ORIGINAL: A half-full bottle of Glacier Freeze Gatorade sits on the edge of my mother’s hospital tray. Any other day, the pessimist in me might’ve called it half-empty. But not today — not after answered prayers and a miracle.

On this day, my mother, Cynthia Moree, had undergone a life-saving liver transplant.

She had been battling end-stage non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, an unforgiving condition that stole her energy, her health, and her joy — and one that doctors told her would eventually take her life.

But just before midnight on June 12, the call came — the one she had prayed for and had faith would eventually come, just not as soon as it did.

A liver was available, they said. Hope was waiting, just two weeks after she was put on the liver transplant list. And at UF Health Shands in Gainesville, a team of skilled surgeons were waiting to give her a second chance.

Twelve hours later, the surgeons removed the failed liver that had drained her for years and replaced it with the gift of life — a liver from a young donor whose selflessness will never be forgotten.

While her liver has changed, my mother’s caring spirit has not.

As she slowly woke from anesthesia, the first thing she did was ask how everyone else was doing. She apologized — yes, apologized — to us, her children, for taking time off work to be there. She thanked the nurses repeatedly for their kindness. And even though her mouth was dry and her body weak, she refused to ask for another Gatorade to replace one sitting at ICU room temperature or a cup of ice, convinced that “other patients probably need the nurses more.”

That’s my mom.

She’s always been the helper, the fixer, the selfless glue holding everything and everyone together. For as long as I can remember, she’s gone without so others wouldn’t have to. She’s the kind of woman who’d give you her last dollar, even if she needed it more.

From scraping together what she didn’t have so her kids could enjoy our childhood, to throwing surprise birthday parties for coworkers just to make them feel special, to choosing to help others in need, even when she was hurting herself, my mom has always put others first.

Now, after a lifetime of giving, she needs a little help herself.

My mom must remain in Gainesville for several months for follow-up care and to be close in case of complications. The costs — from lodging to daily needs — are more than we can handle alone.

If you’re able and feel moved to give, it would mean the world to our family. And if you know my mom, you know she’s already wondering how she can thank you once she’s on her feet again.

And if a donation isn’t possible, a kind word, a prayer, or a simple message of encouragement goes further than you might think.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for the love, support and prayers during this journey.

We’re holding on to hope — and from now on, I’m choosing to see the bottle as half full.

Thank you.