My Uncle Ed gave the gift of life after his death. He inspired me to become a living donor | Opinion

My last memories of Uncle Ed are of a cool, tanned, 20-something year-old who lifted weights and rode a motorcycle.

Uncle Ed had an entire room in his house dedicated to his comic book collection. White banker’s boxes were stacked sky high with each comic numbered, labeled and tucked neatly into plastic sleeves. Barely able to see over the counter, my sister and I would accompany him to the comic book store while he talked with the owner about “this” series or “that” original in his possession. Those whispered conversations felt like risky business taking place, and we were witness to it. Rumor has it, Uncle Ed was sitting on a goldmine that would only appreciate over time.

In the end, that room of organized wonder helped pay for his funeral.

When my grandmother broke the news, I was too young to grasp the details of Uncle Ed’s death or what it meant for our family. I remember his confidence, presenting to the world an unfazed version of himself while fighting his own internal war. Mental illness is hard to escape, no matter how hard you try. The only silver lining to Uncle Ed’s death was that he became an organ donor, a term I didn’t know until Grana (my grandmother) said it with such pride. Through his death, life emerged and our family found solace amid the tragedy.

Soon after his death, the organ procurement organization sent Grana a letter that explained where Uncle Ed’s organs went and who received them: “Your love of your son became evident in the fact that you were willing to donate.”

From South Bend, Indiana, to the island of Puerto Rico, five people were able to live on because of Uncle Ed’s organs, and countless others were healed through his tissue donation. I don’t recall if Uncle Ed ever traveled the world. I’d guess he let his exploration happen within the pages of his comic books. Still, knowing a piece of him was thriving on an island paradise was a comfort. Uncle Ed made a real difference. There were living, breathing humans on the other side of that trauma, which enabled our family to grieve and honor his memory.

By the time Katie Couric introduced me to kidney chains on the evening news, Uncle Ed had been gone for 20 years. Still, he was the first person that came to mind as I learned about the longest string of kidney donations to date, with 10 people giving away their kidneys to 10 others they had never met. The man who began this chain reaction, a Californian named Max Zapata, said he wanted to make a difference in the world however he could. The longer I thought about him, the more I was convinced that my kidney could also make a difference to a stranger in need.

For more than a decade, my left kidney has been living its best life on the other side of the country. Since then, I’ve met countless living donors who profess that they would donate over and over again if they had any more kidneys to spare. I share that sentiment. The relocation of one fully-functioning kidney changed the trajectory of my life, expanded my family and gave my voice meaning in a way I hadn’t expected.

Donors like Uncle Ed give the gift of life through tissue, eye or organ donations to those eagerly waiting for a new lease on life. But there aren’t enough donors like him to fill the need. That’s why living donors are equally essential. Of the more than 100,000 people waiting for a lifesaving organ donation on the National Transplant Wait List, 85% of them are in need of a kidney.

During National Donate Life Month, consider the difference you can make by registering your donation decision on the National Donate Life Registry and visit Donate Life America to learn more about living donation.

This story was originally published April 18, 2024 at 5:00 AM.