By Peggy (Pino) Campa
My son Danny had a kind of strength that was all his own. He was funny, stubborn in the best ways, and certain of himself. He moved through the world with a confidence that showed maturity beyond his years. That was just Danny. His competitive spirit and dedication shined on the baseball diamond and led to him playing for the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy.
When Danny was 15, a family friend gave us advice on organ donation. They had a negative experience and urged us not to show our donor registration status on our driver’s license. It sounded wise, and I took it to heart. A few months later, I drove Danny to the local DMV to get his driver’s license and shared that piece of advice with him. I thought it was best not to register. He listened. He nodded. I thought that was that.
Danny was only nineteen when he was hit by a car in Tallahassee while visiting friends. After seven days battling through a traumatic brain injury, Danny went on his own terms. The way he always did.
Then, a nurse pulled me aside and told me that three years earlier — on the very day we went to the DMV together — Danny had registered to be an organ donor. The news caught me off guard. But I also laughed through my tears, because it was so completely Danny. Stubborn. Sure of himself. Already knowing exactly what he wanted for his life at fifteen years old, and for whatever came after it. I knew I had no choice but to follow his wishes. And I am so grateful that he made those wishes clear.
