The following speech was given by Byron L. Harris, Jr. at the 1998 Gift of Life Gala in honor of his father, who was honored that year for his work on behalf of the National Kidney Foundation of Georgia.  Byron L. Harris, Sr. died October 15, 2000.

I'd like to thank y'all for coming and the Kidney Foundation for choosing to honor my father.

Roughly twelve years ago my father's kidney failed slowly but cruelly over the course of the spring. On an April Day, much like today, he called me at college in tears to announce he would soon begin something called dialysis.

He would spend the next six months in the limbo that is dialysis, carefully avoiding infection and waiting painfully for a donor kidney. And one fine Friday in October, a kidney was found. A thirty year old man, someone about my age, died tragically in a car accident. His kidney was harvested and fit the marking just enough.

I can well remember Mom's call exclaiming "transplant!", me busting out of my first real job at a bank in North Carolina, roaring down the highway, on the near edge of praying the whole long drive.

There was surgery, Dr. Whelchel's magic knife and then suddenly, there was life and health and hope. One cannot praise the doctors enough for their work over that long Spring and into the Fall. They employed their considerable skills and technology masterfully, but more importantly - Dr. Lowance with his jokes and Dr. Watson with calm, quiet bedside manner, they ministered to his soul. They cared in a deep way and it made all the difference in my father's healing, recovery and survival.

And this is all a good and wonderful thing, the reason why Galas and Foundations such as this exist, to raise funds so such tales can be told, that real lives can be extended and improved immeasurably, that families can heal and bond, that miracles do occur even in this modern cynical age.

But with all that said, I have two questions I would like to raise and partially answer. First, what did my father get out of the past twelve years? This Gift of Life, what did he do with it?

Well to start, he got a really big TV with a satellite dish and 500 or so channels. And a clicker. On that TV, he got to see the Braves win a World Series. He also got to see them lose a few. He saw Sid's slide, Otis's catch and Justice's home run. He saw Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux and John Smoltz pitch wonderfully.

He saw the team of his youth, Georgia Tech, win one national championship in football and go to a final four in basketball. He saw his college alma mater, Vanderbilt, lose every game in every sport every time they ever played.

He saw his "men" -- Louis Rukeyser, Washington Week and the McLaughlin Group--six hundred or so Friday nights in a row. You don't call Dad on Friday nights and expect more than a two minute conversation. And if you do, call during a break.

He saw the Dow hit the unimaginable height of nine thousand and lost about that many dollars betting against it with Uncle Kevin and Paul Hawkins. He's had six opportunities to go cruise the streets at Freaknik; for some reason he never has, but the night is young.

He saw the world come to his beloved hometown in the '96 Olympics; he saw the Berlin Wall fall, the freedom of Eastern Europe, the Horror of Waco and Oklahoma City, Rwanda and Bosnia, a War in the Persian Gulf, three Presidential elections, and to his heart's eternal delight, a Republican majority in Congress.

He saw our courtships and engagements (two for me) and attended three weddings (Jack and Brenda were already married). He got to know and love sons and daughters in-law. He greeted with delight five grandchildren into the world: Nicholas, Michael, Lyle, Julia, and Katie, then proceeded to consistently shush them to silence.

He's presided over six every other year official family Christmases and six Thanksgivings. He's gone to ten "cousins" parties. He's hit the beach at Sea Island ten summers, and snuck away to Big Canoe for well over a hundred getaway weekends with Mom.

He's cussed and bothered the Kogco folks to complete distraction, even into his retirement. He and Mom have personally kept OK Cafe, Cheyenne Grill, Brandy House and Houston's in business. He's seen me grow my hair out twice and may yet again. He's called me at work, at least ten thousand times to say how CNN should have done this or that.

He helped me with taxes ten times til he got so sick of our "issues" (Rie and I ask lots of questions) that he's vowed never to do it again. He's spent enough money to fix his basement and foundation three different times, he could have bought a new house.

He's seen spring twelve times.

He's woken up each morning, some four thousand three hundred times in a row, most of them beside the love of his life.

Well, that's what Dad got, but what did we get, his family and friends over these twelve long years?

Well, we met a kind and gentle soul transformed and transcended by his miracle, his veritable brush with mortality.

Of course that lasted about a month.

We've seen the man try to flip his car, sending the Benz down a virtual cliff. We've seen him do somersaults downstairs--most of us try these moves on flat surfaces, but not Dad. We've seen him play two holes of golf; didn't quite make that third hole, a fractured hip got in the way. We've seen him surf, yes, the man who's broken more bones than most of us knew existed, he has surfed, really, I've seen it; on the internet mind you, but surfing none the less.

We've seen him bug his eyes out like a goof in the photos for this Gala, take the time to find them if you have not seen them.

We've seen him be braver than any man should have to be, seen him cry and laugh, seen him angry and sad, happy and full of life. We've seen him be kind and generous, seen him be selfish and pigheaded.

We've shared meals, shared our fears and hopes, shared our faith or lack thereof. We've argued, fought, giggled, embraced, tolerated, and loved the man.

In short, we've seen him live a life, a human being, full of tomfoolery, foibles, and a great heart.

Twelve years, one fifth of his life, roughly one third of mine. What a gift.

After a cadaver transplant, the recipient gets to write a letter to the family of the anonymous donor. This is a good rule and my father happily expressed his sincere thanks at that time.

But I would like to propose an addendum to this rule--the family of the recipient should be allowed to write the donor's family twelve years later, just to say how very much the gift of that one organ meant and how very grateful we are.

  
  Please contact the National Kidney Foundation at 1-800-633-2339 if   you have any questions about the donation of an organ, or if you   would like to have more information about how you can help the   NKFG.