Nothing, it might seem, can be more absolute than death. It's an absence and finality, both total and irreversible. Even in writing about it, a sense of hushed tones and reverence descends - feelings that gain an even greater force when the departed one has made a final gift of themselves as an organ donor. For the deeply respectful part he played in a patient's ultimate gesture for the living, we wish to honor our latest DAISY Award recipient, Peter Woolverton.

Peters works in the ICU, and he cared for an unfortunate young man of nineteen from the day of his admission to that unit, through his final struggle, extubation, and pronouncement of death. Though it is never enough, he did all that he could to comfort the family during each trying passage, and even accompanied his patient to the operating suite where the first steps towards transplantation are taken. He also attended the funeral service - it was as far as he could follow his patient.

Because of this patient, burn victims lived, limbs were saved, others walked, and lost sight was restored. Someone who had recently turned fifty received one of his kidneys, while a 71-year-old was given the other. Somebody altogether different is alive today and breathing life's air through lungs that held our patient's last breath.

A single tissue donor can touch the lives of over twenty-five other patients. That's a lot of loved ones who may not need to be consoled.

When the final moment has passed, and one is beyond living, there's something nearly sacramental in the act of organ donation. It's both consummate and transcendent, and Peter was mindful of that. His faithful care and attendance were a mark of reverence for his patient's life and the gifts he bestowed afterwards.

Reverence. The roots of that word stem from the Latin "revereri", meaning "to stand in awe". For the nineteen-year-old patient at the very heart of this story, and the many others like him who have given so much after death, we stand with Peter - in awe.