03/08/2025
It’s the last night of DonateLife Week, and we wanted to share another story by Humans In Melbourne to wrap. In this beautiful story, Molly talks about her dad Trevor who became an organ and tissue donor 🩷
Molly
“My dad lives on in 5 different people…. Even in death, he made other peoples lives better…
Everyone says they have the best dad in the world, myself and my siblings actually did…
My dad Trevor was one of those people who made everything feel safe.
He was a cop, a helper, a ‘sh*t magnet’ in the best possible way. If the traffic lights went out, he was out there directing traffic. If someone had a legal problem, they came to our house. If a neighbour was struggling, he’d mow their lawn without even asking. Growing up, it was kind of annoying how long it took to walk down the street with him, he couldn’t go five metres without someone stopping to say hello. He never ended a conversation first. He would always let the other person end it. That was just who he was.
Then one day, when he was 54, everything changed. I live just five houses down from mum and dad, and I found him sitting quietly in his chair. He couldn’t really talk. He wasn’t making sense and he was walking on a slant. I tried to do the stroke test. I called his doctor. Called Mum.
Then I called the ambulance.
He had had a small stroke. That was the start of it all. A week later, he had a major stroke in his sleep. After emergency surgery, he came home, unable to walk, speak properly, or care for himself.
That was the beginning of 18 months of a completely different kind of life. We had to take guardianship. Modify the house. Figure out who builds ramps, how to access support, how to even cancel a phone plan when everything was in Dad’s name. But mostly, we had to learn how to love someone in a different way.
We mourned the loss of the dad we knew, but we got to love the new version too. He couldn’t say much, but when he did, it was unforgettable. Sometimes he’d shout random swear words in public, usually at the poor waiter. But then he’d also light up with these hilarious catchphrases like “Goodness gracious!” that became so unmistakably him.
His body was limited, but his spirit still found its way through.
He also looked different as a piece of his skull was missing and he had to wear a helmet to protect his brain. It was a big adjustment for my little boy, his Pa looked different all of a sudden. My little boy used to be his shadow. They adored each other. Even though Dad looked different, had to wear a helmet, couldn’t walk without help, Leon still saw his Pa.
When it came time for surgery to put his skull back in, it almost didn’t feel serious. We’d been through so much already, we just assumed he’d pull through like always. Before every other operation, we’d all said our goodbyes. None of us said goodbye properly that time… Then during the operation, he had another stroke. And this time, he didn’t wake up.
We spent three days in ICU by his side. There was a bedside vigil. The police chaplain came. We said goodbye slowly. We were told dad wasn’t going to make it. And then someone from DonateLife came to speak with us to see if we’d donate Dad’s organs.
At first, we laughed, “Trevor’s organs? Are you sure? He loved a beer!”
But he’d quit smoking and drinking during those 18 months, and all that rehab and clean living had actually made his organs viable.
They asked if we’d ever had that all important conversation with dad… and we had.
Years before, I asked dad if I should be an organ donor… dad looked me right in the eye, “Of course you should be, I am. You’d be crazy not to… if you can help someone you should help someone.”
That memory came flooding back to me when we were asked.
I knew what dad would say, “Take everything you need!”
They used his heart valves to save a young girl.
His kidneys went to someone who’d never been able to take a holiday because they were always on dialysis.
His corneas went to someone who can now drive their grandkids to school.
Nearly a year after he died, we got a call, his skin had been used to help burn survivors.
We’ve heard from five of his recipients. It’s rare to hear back at all, but we did. And still, I haven’t written back. Not because I don’t care, just the opposite. I don’t know how to say what I want to say. Nothing feels big enough. I’ve rewritten the letters over and over again.
But how do you write something big enough to hold all of that? To say, ‘You deserved it. We’re so glad you’re here and we are so grateful that you carry our dad with you.’
The words always feel too small. I actually hope they see this… if they do. Thank you.
So instead, I talk about him. I tell his story. I volunteer with DonateLife. I speak at hospitals to remind staff that what they do matters. That the care they give becomes a permanent part of a family’s memory. And I do it because, eventually, people stop asking how you’re going. Grief has an expiry date in most people’s minds. But telling Trevor’s story lets me keep him here. And honestly, he’d be so proud of all this. He’d be up the front, cracking jokes, soaking up the applause, and saying, ‘Take what you need, I won’t be using it anymore.’
He was the best kind of man. And now, parts of him are still out there, doing good in the world.
That’s exactly the way he would’ve wanted it.”
Tonight marks the last night of DonateLife Week. We have heard some amazing stories from across the gamut of donation experiences. I hope each one has made you think and have a conversation with your loved ones. Most importantly, I hope if you weren’t already, you’ve signed up on the DonateLife register. It only takes one minute of your time.
4 out of 5 Australians say they support donation but only 1 out of 3 are actually registered… the way I see it, if you would take an organ to save yours or a loved ones life, you have to be willing to give one as well.
Thank you to all the incredible stories we have heard this year, it’s been an honour to tell them.
