賴安的希望

The day started out normally enough. Ryan was upstairs preparing to leave for school， while his sixyear-old sister， Jamie， waited for him at the front door.

At ten years old， Ryan loved knowledge and seemed to have an abundance of it， far beyond his years. When he was in first grade， the children in his class were asked to draw a picture and answer the question， “If you could be anyone， who would you be？” Ryan wrote： “If I could be anyone， I’d want to be God.” At age seven， while sitting in church one day， he wrote：

The tree of Life， O， the tree of Glory

The tree of God of the World， O， the tree of me

Suddenly， Ryan called out that he had a headache. I went upstairs and found him lying on his bed. By the time we arrived at the hospital he was unconscious. We stood by helplessly as the doctors fought to save his life. A couple of hours later we were finally allowed to see him. He was hooked up to a life support system. When the doctor told us our son had suffered a massive 1）cerebral 2）haemorrhage and was “legally and clinically brain dead，” it felt like a terrible nightmare. We went into shock. Nothing more could be done， the doctor said， and asked if we would consider organ donation. Astonishingly， we had discussed this with Ryan only recently. We looked at each other and simultaneously replied， “Oh yes， Ryan would have wanted that.”

In April， Ryan had seen his dad filling out the organ donor card on the back of his driver’s license. His dad had explained to him about organ donation and how you could help save another’s life by agreeing to donate your organs when you die.

Organ donation made such perfect sense to Ryan， he went on his own campaign persuading the entire family to sign donor cards. We had no doubt that donating Ryan’s organs was the right thing to do.

Then， on a beautiful morning four months after Ryan’s death， the first letter arrived， addressed to my husband and me. As we read it， we both began to weep. It was from a twentyyear-old university student thanking us for our “gift of sight.” He had received one of Ryan’s 3）corneas and could now see again. It is difficult to describe our emotions—we wept， but at the same time， we felt wonderful.

Sometime later we received a second letter from a young woman of thirty who had received one of Ryan’s kidneys and his 4）pancreas. She’d had diabetes since she was five， spending much of her recent years hooked up to a 5）dialysis machine. She told us that because of Ryan， she was now free from 6）insulin and dialysis， able to work again and return to a normal life.

Early May brought the painful first anniversary of our son’s death. Then we received our third letter. A young boy of sixteen， born with 7）cystic fibrosis， had received Ryan’s lungs. Without the double lung transplant he received， he would have died. Besides being able to return to school， he was now doing things he had never done before—running， playing hockey and roller blading with his friends. Knowing this boy’s life had been renewed lifted our spirits immensely.

Such joy seemed to come from our sorrow， so much happiness from our loss.

Although nothing could take away our pain， we took great comfort and peace in knowing that Ryan had done something most of us will never do—he had saved lives！

That summer， while on vacation in 8）Haliburton， we met a young man—by sheer coincidence—who had had a kidney and pancreas transplant at the same hospital where some of Ryan’s organs had been transplanted. He knew the young woman who had received her kidney and pancreas on May 2 from a ten-year-old boy he believed to be our son. Her name was Lisa， and she was doing great.

This chance meeting inspired me， and the following spring I decided to share our experiences with others. I faxed my article to three papers， and to my astonishment， all three wanted to feature it！ A flurry of interviews and photo sessions followed， and we experienced an excitement we thought we were no longer capable of.

When the first article appeared， Dale and I were totally overwhelmed when we opened the paper to find that Ryan’s story of hope was the banner story—right on the front page！ Included in the article was the poem Ryan had written when he was seven， just as we had it inscribed on his tombstone. We wept tears of joy and sadness as we read it over and over. In his brief ten years on this earth， our son Ryan had made a difference.

Apparently Lisa also read the article. When she saw Ryan’s poem， she recognized it from a letter we had sent her and realized he was her organ donor. The article said we would be at the Gift of Life medal presentation in Toronto two weeks later， so she decided to attend. Once there， she was unsure about introducing herself. We all wore name tags， and when Lisa found herself standing next to my husband Dale she just couldn’t hold back. You can imagine the emotional scene of hugs and tears that followed！ It was truly a miraculous， unforgettable moment！ It felt so wonderful to see her standing there alive and healthy， knowing that our son had helped make that possible. Ryan’s kidney and pancreas had apparently been a perfect match. And part of him now lives on in her.

Moments later， a woman approached us with her eight-year-old daughter. “I think my daughter has your son’s kidney，” she said. Kasia was just four when both of her kidneys had shut down and she had gone on dialysis. The details of her transplant matched， and we all felt certain it must have been Ryan’s kidney that had given this lovely girl a new life. A few weeks later when we visited Ryan’s grave， we wept tears of joy when we found a beautiful drawing left there， signed “Kasia.”

Due to the Canadian 9）confidentiality laws， meetings such as these are very rare， and it is impossible to describe the intense emotions that result. When Ryan died I thought I would never again feel joy. But meeting Lisa and Kasia was a kind of miracle， opening my heart to those feelings I thought had been forever buried with my son.

Today， I now know I will always be the mother of two children. Ryan is， and always will be， part of our family and our lives. Although the pain of losing him will never completely leave me， I have begun putting the pieces of my life back together， though it now takes a different shape.

那天，一切都開始得很平常。賴安在樓上收拾東西，準備去上學，而他六歲的妹妹潔米則在門口等他。

年僅十歲，賴安熱愛知識，學識似乎也頗為豐富，遠遠超過了他這個年紀。在他讀一年級的時候，老師要求班上的孩子畫一幅畫并回答這個問題：“如果你可以做任何人，你想做誰？”賴安寫道：“如果我可以做任何人，我想做上帝。”在他七歲時，有一天，他坐在教堂里，寫道：

生命之樹，噢，光榮之樹

世界之神之樹，噢，吾之樹

突然，賴安大喊頭痛。我走上樓，發現他倒在了床上。當我們到達醫院時，他已經不省人事。醫生在全力挽救他的生命，而我們眼見一切，無能為力。

數小時后，我們終于得到了允許，可以進去看他。他身上連接著生命維持系統。醫生告訴我們，我們兒子的腦部大量出血，已經“在法律上和臨床上被判定為腦死亡”，那時的感覺就像置身一個恐怖的噩夢當中。我們深受打擊。醫生說已經盡力了，并詢問我們要不要考慮器官捐贈。令人詫異的是，我們最近才和賴安討論過這個問題。我們看著彼此，異口同聲地回答道：“噢，要，賴安會希望這樣做的。”

四月的時候，賴安看到他爸爸在駕照的背后填寫器官捐贈卡。他爸爸給他解釋了器官捐贈的事，告訴他，人死后如何能夠通過同意把自己的器官捐贈出去而挽救其他人的生命。

賴安完全理解了器官捐贈是怎么一回事，并開始勸說全家去填捐贈卡。毋庸置疑，把賴安的器官捐贈出去是件正確的事。

然后，在賴安去世四個月后的一個美麗清晨，第一封信到了，收信人是我和我丈夫。……