
On February 1st, 1997, a sunny Saturday afternoon in Portland, Oregon, our daughter, Keren, age 35, was cycling on a marked bike lane, when she was struck from behind by a drunk driver. On Monday, February 3rd, two days later, we learned that Keren was brain dead. We were asked - in a most compassionate and sensitive way - if we would consider her being an organ donor. It was a given that Keren's death was senseless - we could do nothing to change that. But we could give others the opportunity to continue their lives. We gave our consent for Keren to become a donor.
One could not meet a more vibrant young woman. Keren loved being a part of the outdoors. She channeled her professional and leisure activities into this love. She majored in biology in college and marine science in graduate school. She was pursuing a career as a fisheries scientist with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration where she was working on the development of environmental policy to protect the sockeye salmon. She went into the wilds to survey streams; she traveled to small towns along the Snake River to speak to groups of Native Americans, communities of loggers, and corporate businessmen. Her colleagues agreed that, in her dedication to the conservation of fish and wildlife, Keren made a difference.
Keren was an active sailor, hiker, camper, skier and cyclist. She was an avid competitive bicyclist, a member of "Team Oregon". She won numerous medals and awards in bicycling competition. Today these awards stand on the desk in her childhood room. Our favorite photo is of Keren after placing in a local bike race with her arms outstretched and a smile across her face. She was in top physical fitness. We hoped that the donation of her organs would make a difference.
Keren was the glue to her three brothers and at the center of many groups of friends and colleagues. She gave of her time to coaching junior bike teams and a troop of Girl Scouts. She was a gregarious person who served as a catalyst for bringing diverse groups of people together. Keren knew what it meant to give. In our hearts, we could hear her saying "yes!" to our decision to donate her organs.
On February 20, we received a letter from the Pacific Northwest Transplant Bank that provided us with anonymous stories about the people who had received Keren's organs: six people who had been waiting (some for many months) and would have died were given a new lease on life. Two were 26 years old, one 34, one 37, one 47, one 54. Collectively, these six people had nine children who were spared the premature loss of their mother or father. In addition, two people regained their sight. The stationery of the Pacific Northwest Transplant Bank reads: "Network for Life". Keren became part of this network and we, as a family, began to understand and appreciate what that meant to others and to us.
Keren's name in Hebrew means "a ray of light". The following quote is from a family prayer book developed for the Jewish High Holiday Services the year following Keren's death:
"The sun also rises. The sun also sets.
Before the sun of a righteous person sets
God causes the sun of another righteous person to rise."
To us, organ donation has this sense of continuity -- of an ending also being a beginning -- the beginning of a fuller life for someone and their family.
Things you may not know about Keren:
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