This year, my husband Doug and I celebrated the 25th
birthday of a man we had never met. His name was Tonny Horn. On the night of
October 21, 2005, when he was standing in a parking lot (停车场) talking to
friends, Tonny jumped to the top of a car, as he had done a hundred times
before. This time, though, Tonny lost his balance (平衡). His head struck the
ground, hard. All night, Elizabeth, Tonny’s mother, stood next
to her son, who was lying in a hospital bed. She remembered that Tonny has once
mentioned organ (器官) donation (捐献). Maybe I can spare another family this pain,
she thought. When the time came, she and her husband Tom signed the forms
permitting his organs to be taken out. Tonny was declared dead
the next day. Twenty-four hours later, in a Boston hospital, Tonny’s liver (肝脏)
was made part of my husband, Doug, who was suffering from a hopeless liver
disease. Months later, we learned the Tonny’s parents wished to
meet someone who had gained life through the gift from their son. A meeting was
arranged by the organ bank to bring together the two families.
The meeting was risky, but worth it. We learned for the first time how Tonny had
lived and died. We learned something about Tom and Elizabeth too. For the Homes,
seeing Doug and knowing he was well seemed to ease (减轻) their suffering. I’ll
never forget seeing Doug’s tall figure stooped (弯腰) over Elizabeth, her arms
around his waist, as a mother would hug (拥抱) a son. What helped to ease the Homes’ suffering
A. Knowing that Doug looked very much like their son.
B. Knowing that Doug had regained health with Tonny’s liver.
C. Knowing they now had someone to share their memories of Tonny.
D. Knowing for sure they had done the right thing.