'What would my son have wanted?'

A mother struggles with the issue of organ donation

TERRY J. RATNER
Special to Jewish News

Sky Paar, second from left, poses in 1994 with family members, from left, younger sister Aimeé Marie Janca, Terry Ratner, older sister Gypsy Faith Paar and grandfather Irv Lewis.

Photo courtesy of Terry J. Ratner

When my son died, I wasn't prepared for it. No one ever is.

Losing a child has been the hardest thing I've ever had to face.

I'm a nurse in a level one trauma hospital, but that title didn't exclude me from the suffering I've witnessed. For a while, I felt protected from the outside wrath that can wreak havoc on one's life.

Losing a child and facing the decision of organ donation was something other people went through. I was an observer, advocate and listener for bereaved family members and close friends of the deceased. It had boundaries.

Then suddenly, all barriers broke loose, and I was faced with the decisions I'd assisted others with.

I am now traveling in that world, no longer watching the events from a distance. For now I am part of an exclusive club one never joins willingly but instead, in a single bleak instant, is initiated into. I hold my hands out to others and feel the depth of their pain and suffering. Then we talk about organ donation.

Accident, March 1999
It was Friday morning at 3 a.m. when I was told of my only son's death. I remember walking, as if in a trance, to the couch. I had on a long, white nightgown. I tucked my knees under it to make a tent, my arms tightly wrapped around my knees, and rocked back and forth.

In the early dawn of day, while birds still sang and the world was asleep, I put my head down between my knees, let out one thin wail that sounded like the far off call of a loon. I wondered how much a person could cry. It seemed to last forever.

Sky's body was at the medical examiner's and an autopsy was being performed. My ex-husband called and we discussed our son's burial between the spasmodic moans. It was then that he told me of Sky's wishes to become a donor.

I never thought to discuss organ donation with my son. As a mother, that was one of the subjects I chose to avoid. The words "child" and "death" were never uttered in the same breath. If my thoughts ran wild and pictures of fallen angels appeared, I'd squeeze my eyelids shut, until the demons departed.

I challenged his inside information, partly because I wasn't involved in their sensitive conversation, and now I was asked to share his body with strangers.

"How do you know his wishes on the subject?" I demanded. "Why would a 24-year-old think about death?"

"He told me about a month ago while we worked on his car. We talked about death and what we believe in." My ex answered without hesitation.

I knew they had become close during the past eight years. They had been strangers for an equal amount of time. I told him I would think about it and then make my decision.

"What would my son have wanted?" I asked myself over and over again, trying to think back to any indications Sky might have given me as to his thoughts on death. I could remember none.

My mind sifted through sketchy details of the accident. He was riding his motorcycle when a pick-up truck coming in the opposite direction turned left. The driver was unaware of Sky's presence and caused a fatal collision.

"He went peacefully, without a struggle," according to the police and firemen that arrived at the scene within minutes. They gently removed his helmet and held his head in their arms while he took his last breath. I repeatedly questioned them about my son's last moments, as if I was a child being told a story, over and over again. I could have listened to it a thousand times, always hoping they would say something new, discover some development I hadn't heard before.

I asked, "Did he say anything to you before he died?" The answer was always the same.

The donor question was the last decision I would make for my son. It was important to make the right choice.

As Jews, time was a consideration, for the dead are buried quickly. Sky would be buried in a poplar wood casket, wrapped in a shroud of ashen white pants, shirt, and robe. What would he look like when I said good-bye if he was a donor? What could he donate considering the severity of the accident?

When I called the Donor Network, they had already spoken to the medical examiner. They knew what was left of his broken shell. They were courteous and answered all my questions to the best of their knowledge.

I was informed that his corneas could be utilized along with his tissue and bone. I remembered his keen eyesight that he inherited from his father. His bones were strong as his body was lean and muscular.

The Donor Network told me that a prosthesis would be applied to the lower limbs, but his arms may look and feel "different" if the bones were removed. The decision was made to use his corneas, tissues and leg bones. I was okay with that.

The next day I said goodbye.
I studied his face, noticing his thick brows giving him a pensive look. His closed eyelids surrounded by dark, long lashes lying still against his olive complexion.

I stroked his fingers, one at a time, as I did when he was born. I touched him, caressed him, and kissed his cheek. I crouched over him and said, "Hang in there, Sky. I'll always be your mom, even when I'm 70. I'll remember everything, absolutely everything about you, and when I get there we'll pick up where we left off."

That was the last time I saw my son.

It's a comfort to know Sky has enhanced the lives of others. Somewhere a person's eyesight has improved. A man can stand straight again. A teenager can walk. He has reached out to others even in death.

Organ donation facts
Organ donation from the living jumped 16 percent last year, the largest increase on record, as the waiting list for the transplants grew much faster than donations from people who had died. The number of living donors has been growing more quickly than the number of cadaveric donors for a decade, but the gap was particularly striking in 2000.

While the number of living donors jumped significantly, donations from the dead edged up just 2.7 percent. The number of patients on the waiting list for transplants grew five times as fast as the number of transplants.

Terry Jean Ratner, RN, BSN, is a postanesthesia care unit nurse at Good Samaritan Regional Medical Center in Phoenix and a free-lance writer.

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