A Letter to the Recipient of my Brother’s Kidney

By: Caroline K. Melson

The Call That Changed Everything

Almost a year ago, you received a call saying there was a kidney for you. Your wait was over. I’ve thought about you so many times since then. And today, I want to share a little about the man whose kidney is now yours—my brother, Joe.

Remembering Joe

When my brother, Joe was born, my dad had his boy, and the family name continued. He was the cutest little boy and so handsome as he grew into a young man. But as good-looking as he was on the outside, he was even more beautiful on the inside. He was the sweetest brother, a cherished son, and an adored uncle to his 14 nieces and nephews and 5 grand-nieces and nephews.

The Heartbreaking Reality

It broke our hearts when Joe had a cardiac event at home with our mother. By the time the paramedics arrived, too much oxygen had been kept from his brain. I was on the phone with my mom while CPR was being performed. I heard the paramedics say they were transporting him—but that it was dire. They had to revive him several times in the ambulance. We had a glimpse of hope when he arrived at the hospital alive. But as I was getting ready to board a flight to be with him, a call came in. They didn’t think he’d survive without life support. We’d know for sure in two days.

The Last Moments with Joe

When I walked into the hospital room and saw my brother on a ventilator, I was crushed. I sobbed and laid my head on his chest. I told him over and over how much I loved him. I held his hand. I prayed for God to save him. We spent two more days loving him. My sisters all came into town. Cousins arrived. We hung photos on the wall so everyone would know how loved he was—that he was a person to be cherished.

Later, I realized he should not be tolerating a ventilator without any sedatives. He should be trying to pull that thing out or asking me for help. He wasn’t reacting to pain, wasn’t squeezing my hand when I asked him to, wasn’t waking up. I realized that barring a miracle, we were going to have to let him go. That’s when I walked out to the nurse’s station: Are his organs healthy enough for donation?

The Decision for Donation

The nurse said they were focused on his care, not his organs. I started to cry and said out loud, “Even his organs are bad.” She then gently added, “Since you asked, I can share: His kidneys and liver look good, but our job is to try to get him well. At the hospital, their primary focus is on saving you…not organ donation.” I went back into his room and thought about this information.

I thought about my other brother, Kevin, who died in a car accident 30 years ago. I remember wondering why he hadn’t been an organ donor. Now I understand how rare it is. To donate, you have to still have a heartbeat—so they can evaluate and find potential matches for your organs. I thought: If we were going to lose Joe, it would be nice for someone else to live on.

Focusing on the Gift of Life

Live on like my brother-in-law, Chris who received a liver and my son’s best friend, Jaden Woodard who received a heart. I then went back to focusing my attention on my brother because I knew the time of hearing his heartbeat, holding his warm hand, or seeing his face would be ending soon. I savored the time we had left, believing he could hear me and feel the love.

The next day, the Network for Hope team entered Joe’s room. They told us Joe was a registered donor. But we had to decide if more than his eyes and tissue could be donated. It was brutal watching my mom realize she was losing another child—her only living son. But ultimately, she said, “This is what he would want.” While we still prayed for a miracle, we also talked about you. We didn’t know who you were, but we hoped you’d get more time with your family because of Joe.

A Difficult Decision

Testing to find a match started, but we still prayed for a miracle for Joe. The Network for Hope team recorded Joe’s heartbeat and put it in a bear for our mom. The next day, our brother was formally evaluated, and it was official, only his brain stem was still functioning. (Joe would need a ventilator and feeding tube to live.) The doctors shared the news with me, my sisters and our mom, who wondered out loud what he would want. They asked mom if he ever shared his desires. Joe had told our mom that he didn’t want a feeding tube. We had our answer. And again, we talked about you. I was sad and conflicted. I felt guilty that we were keeping his soul from going to heaven. But at the same time, I didn’t want the final goodbye. As I write this, I feel conflicted. I hated seeing his lifeless body in bed, but I loved being able to hold his hand and simply have him in my life.

A Final Gift

The priest who visited to pray for Joe and give him the anointing of the sick told us Joe could hear us. He told us that hearing is the last sense to go. Joe knew about you. We told him he was going to save lives with organ donation. And while I feel him watching over me, I sense he’s also keeping an eye on you and that kidney—and rooting for you to savor your second chance at life!

An honor walk was planned for November 2, 2023, the day Joe would be born into heaven. We were told that he would help many people through the donation of his kidneys, liver, eyes, and tissue. Our family and friends joined us to honor our beautiful son/brother/uncle/friend. We learned that mom and the sisters would be in the room with him until he went to be with Jesus. And then he’d be taken from us quickly so that his organs could be gifted to his matches. We also learned that he had to pass away within 30 minutes for the liver to be gifted and 90 minutes for the kidneys. Being with him was hard because no one wanted to say goodbye, especially to a young person. But there was no way we’d let him do it alone. We were his family, and we were going to love him to the end. The 30-minute “race” to get him to heaven for organ donation was on my mind, but I pushed it away and stayed in the moment for Joe. We all prayed, told him to go to the light and expressed our love for him. I’m sure he enjoyed watching the 6 of us smother him one last time. Joe died in 41 minutes… fast enough for the kidneys but not the liver. It’s been almost a year, and that reality still makes me sad. I imagine the family waiting for the liver with joyful anticipation, receiving that tough news. News almost as tough as ours. I pray that someone else came through with a match for them.

A Gift to You

But what I try to focus on is YOU…the person who has my brother’s kidney. I know you have grandchildren, and I often think of you being able to be with yours. And I imagine the gift that you are to their life. I also am thankful you no longer must go through dialysis. Our dad had stage 4 kidney disease, and at the end of his life, he went to dialysis. I went with him many times. Dialysis is hard. So, when I think of you, I imagine you without the heavy cross of dialysis or the even heavier one of not wanting to leave your family. I imagine you blessing the lives of your children and grandchildren. And I’m grateful you have something that my dad wished for at the end of his life: more time with his children and grandchildren. Joe’s gift to you was the gift my dad longed for: more time.

Cherish the Time

Cherish the time with your children and grandchildren. Know that they’d be crushed without you. Cherish that kidney. It came from a great guy who absolutely LOVED children. He’d love that he kept someone special in the life of the children they love!

Gratitude for the Nurses

I can’t close this out without thanking the nurses at Mercy Hospital. They lovingly cared for Joe. One evening I was struggling and thanked his nurse for taking care of Joe. He quietly reminded me, “We are here to care for you too.” And they truly were. Joe’s night nurse during his last couple of days stayed past the end of his shift to take part in the honor walk. When the walk was delayed because of the weather affecting the transplant team’s flight, he stayed anyway. I’ll never forget being in the room as Joe was slipping away, looking up and seeing Nurse Will standing there—quietly, respectfully—in honor and support.

Closing Thoughts

I’m thankful I finally wrote this letter. I’ve been thinking about writing this letter for months. At first, I was numb. A few months ago, I began to emerge from the fog of grief. Writing this letter is part of the journey—part of healing, and honoring Joe.

You and your family will always be in my prayers.

Joe’s sis, Caroline

Please consider joining SDS in saving and improving lives at registerme.org.