Matched.

They said you were my perfect match. That I couldn’t have asked for better.

Of course, I would have settled for someone lesser. A seven or an eight, perhaps. Maybe someone with a few quirks of their own.

I’m relieved you were European, though. If you’d been in the US, it might have been more complicated. Especially given how chaotic my life already was.

I think about you more often than you’d expect.

Wondering what you look like. Who you are. What kind of life you lead. 

You know, we could pass each other on the street and never know. 

It’s unlikely, I guess, but not impossible.

You might laugh at this, but one evening, as I waited for my radiation, I did a bit of snooping. The nurse who wheeled me down had to rush back to the ward, leaving me alone with my file while I waited to be taken through to the radiotherapy suite.

In that moment, I couldn’t resist a peek.

None of it made much sense, and still it felt wrong to look. As if there might be something in there I didn’t want to know. Or something I wasn’t meant to see. Your details, maybe.

But it was all very professional. Carefully guarded. Nothing that gave you away, nothing I didn’t already know.

Except for one line.

A jumble of letters and numbers. I can barely remember it now, but at the time I convinced myself the letters looked like an abbreviation of Deutschland. In truth, I was probably grasping at straws. But still, it felt comforting to have even the faintest hint of you.

Letters further along suggested you were found through the DKMS register. Again, I was probably just clinging to fragments and building a picture from nothing.

But for me, it was everything to know even a little bit more.

I wonder how old you are. Maybe you’re my age. Possibly younger. Or maybe you're older, with a wife and children.

Do your children know what you did?

Do they know their dad saved a life?

What about your work. Are you driven, ambitious, climbing steadily? Or are you still finding your feet?

Do your colleagues realise what you’ve done? Do they know they have a hero amongst them?

Please don’t work in a bank. I'd hate it if you did. I mean, I’ll forgive you if you do. Just know I have my reasons.

What type of man are you?

Are you serious? Structured. Someone who likes order and professionalism?

Or adventurous? Outdoors every weekend. Hiking, running marathons, chasing adrenaline.

Or maybe you’re quiet. Creative. Someone who reads in coffee shops and finds beauty in unfamiliar places.

You could be all of these things. Or none of them at all. I guess I’ll never know.

I’ve written to you a couple of times. Did you get my letters?

I’m told you did, but you never replied. Not that you had to. I just hoped you would. Even just once.

I wanted you to know what it meant. To me. To my family.

Because of you, I married the man I love.

Because of you, I travelled to places I’d never seen.

Because of you, I lived a life I might never have had the chance to live.

The first few months were hard. In truth, the whole year was hard. But everything that came after, and everything still ahead of me, exists because of you. I hope you realise that.

I guess I really don’t know much about you at all. I probably never will.

But I do know that you waited. That you sat on standby for weeks and months until I needed you.

I know I wouldn’t be here without you. That my life, and the lives of those who love me, would look very different today.

And I know, no matter what, you'll always be remembered as my perfect match. A part of who I am now. A part of my DNA.

So, to the stranger who saved my life, thank you.