Alexander R. Van Cleave

My brother became a hero before he turned six. Unfortunately, he never turned six. On September 13th, 1996 my younger brother, Alex, passed away after a week in a coma, which was the result of a freak fall that caused extensive damage to his spinal cord. It was two weeks before his sixth birthday. Though he did not live long, Alex was a true hero. He gave a second chance at life for two young Japanese children, an act that helped to ease tensions in Japanese-American relations, and also helped to change the attitude of an entire nation towards organ donation. He has served as a constant source of inspiration and determination for me--not bad for someone in first grade.

When Alex died, the doctors asked my parents if they wanted to donate his organs. My parents agreed, and although most of his organs were too damaged by drugs and life support to be viable transplants, the doctors ascertained that both his kidneys were suitable for donation. They were sent to two young Japanese boys, one around ten years old, the other perhaps 15. Both transplants were successful, though one boy's body later rejected the organ. Though we have not heard from him in several years, it is highly likely that the boy is living a happy and healthy life, and a part of my brother is living along with him. Even though my brother was not the one that agreed to transplant his organ, the fact remains that a boy is living a normal life, instead of one hooked indefinitely to a dialysis machine, because of my little brother.

However, the effects of the transplant did not end with one boy getting a new lease on life. The major Tokyo newspaper, the Daily Yomiuri, printed in both English and Japanese, ran an article on my brother that initiated a significant change in Japanese culture. The donation of two organs from a brain-dead American boy caused many people to re-evaluate their views on organ donation. A slow shift began, away from the traditional view of brain death towards a view more in line with the American one, and donations slowly began to rise. For the past ten years, donation rates have steadily increased, and are now significantly higher than they were in Japan a decade ago.

The effects transcended the medical field as well. Shortly before my family moved to Japan, a U.S. soldier stationed in Osaka had been arrested and charged with raping a local girl, and tensions between U.S. military forces and the Japanese population were high. As unrelated as the rape charge and my brother’s case were, the act of good will on the part of my parents did much to help ease the strains present between America and Japan. The Japanese were very impressed and surprised at the kindness and generosity that came out of a foreign family in the face of such tragedy, particularly since the popular opinion among the Japanese was that Americans were a rather callous and secluded group, who were rather condescending towards the local populace.

As amazing as these changes were, they were not what mattered most to me. After the death of my brother, I gained a source of motivation. I wanted to make sure that I was worthy of being called Alex’s brother. I use him as a crutch every day. It may sound cheesy, but I like to think of him as my own personal guardian angel, someone who watches over me and helps me out. In especially tough times, I can almost feel him near me, helping me, guiding me along and giving me strength to carry on. Over this summer, Swab Summer, possibly the most challenging time of my life, I constantly used him as a reason to continue, a reason not to quit or back down. I felt like I was letting him down if I did.

I’ve always thought of a hero as someone who inspires change and action. My brother did both. Through the donation of his organs, my brother changed the lives of two Japanese boys who might otherwise not be alive today. My brother helped change the attitude of an entire nation towards organ donation and brain death, potentially saving untold thousands of lives in the process. He helped heal relations between two nations, salvaging a strong bond that was threatened by crime and violence. But most importantly, he changed me. He made me a stronger person, a better person. He taught me that I can do anything with the help of my friends and my family, and he taught me to never give up. In my eyes, my brother is the epitome of a hero, even if he was not the person calling the shots when he became one.