It was the middle of another year in high school. Just two days earlier, my biggest decision regarded which shirt I would wear to school. Now I was forced to determine how my recently deceased mother would be spending her time in eternity.
The tragedy began inconspicuously enough when my mom began complaining of a headache and went into the bathroom to throw up. Two minutes later, she was unconscious and the rescue squad was on the way.
At the hospital, the situation seemed to become less and less plausible. An emergency room doctor spoke'almost comically from behind his mask'and explained to my stepfather and me that she had suffered a massive stroke and had almost no chance to survive.
I was not ready for such a statement. No one is. I even went to school the next day, secure with the knowledge that somehow, some way, my mother would pull through. Relatives streamed in from around the country to offer their support. It seemed as though by sheer love of those at the hospital, we could send my mom enough good will to make it.
Reality soon came, however, in the form of a doctor's CAT-scan results. My mom's brain had suffered so much damage that it was losing mass, and would eventually collapse into her spinal cavity. The only life she could ever live would be one totally supported by machines.
Upon giving this report, the doctors discussed with the family the option of donating my mother's organs. This would be a way, they said, to have some consolation arise from such a horrific experience.
Even though my mother never explicitly mentioned her intentions regarding organ donation, we all decided it was what she would have wanted. We all took some solace in knowing that my mom's organs would perhaps save someone's life.
After the memories of my mother's passing had been numbed by time and repression, it seemed as though I would be forced to go back to the terror and grief of her death when I had the option to meet George. The 62-year-old Minneapolis man was the recipient of my mother's heart and wanted to meet our family to thank us.
At first, I wasn't interested. It is one thing to be comforted by the thought of another man living as the result of your mother's death; it is something else entirely to forget the sadness and anger associated with this man's good fortune and say hello.
With heavy goading from my grandmother, I decided I would meet George. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. Although I was constantly reminded of my mother's loss, I could not help but feel thankful that another person had been allowed to live.
I met George two years ago. My grandmother recently told me that George passed away a few months ago. Even though he no longer lives, the memory of his thankfulness will never be extinguished. Words cannot fully express the thought of replacing the feelings of loss with those of joy. Instead of thinking of my mom's last few waking moments in the bathroom, now her death reminds me of the fact that George got to spend a few extra summers with his grandchildren.
Luckily, my family was able to reach a decision about donating my mother's organs. Some families of recently deceased are not so lucky, as heated debates ensue over what should happen to the loved one. I don't want this to happen to me, so I make sure to keep a fresh donor sticker on my driver's license and renew the signature every couple of months so it remains visible. I also encourage those I care about to do the same.
Organ donation is a wonderful way to bring joy and hope to a tragic situation. Make sure that if you were in such a dilemma, you or those you care about could do likewise.
