One year ago today, I lost a good friend. Andy Jones ("Beasty", as I knew him best) passed away after a short battle with cancer.

I will always remember him best for our friendly rivalry on the subject of blood donation. Beasty and I were both regular donors because we both saw it as a responsibility and an honour to give blood as often as possible. When we first compared the total number of donations we each had made, we learned that Beasty had made more than I had, maybe 5-10 more at the time. We turned our donations into a challenge, racing to see who could give more blood and save more lives. Beasty was a few years older than I, and had a head start, but the regulations in Canada allowed me to donate every eight weeks, while the UK system would only let Beasty donate once every twelve.

Despite the edge I had, I never did catch up with Beasty. He was more diligent than I, and even though I could donate more often, I didn't make it in often enough to gain any real ground.

When Beasty started treatment for his cancer, he was told that he could no longer donate blood. He had wanted to make one hundred donations during his life, but only made it to thirty-four. He posted to his LiveJournal on the subject, saying that he would now have to concede defeat to me in the blood donor race.

Less than a month later, Beasty passed away. After grieving for a time, it occurred to me that I had made twenty-nine blood donations, and it saddened me greatly to think that I was six donations away from overtaking Beasty. My first thought was to make my thirty-fourth donation and then stop, to never win our race. I knew immediately, though, that Beasty would not have wanted me to do any such thing. To stop donating would be wrong in every way.

It didn't take me long to decide what to do. I made my next five donations over the next several months, right up to my thirty-fourth donation, tying the race. Tonight, on the anniversary of Beasty's passing, I made my thirty-fifth donation. Or rather, I should say that Beasty made his thirty-fifth donation: I donated in his memory, and I credit the donation to him. In eight weeks, I will make another donation counted to my credit, and eight weeks later, Beasty will pull ahead again as we alternate. My lasting tribute to Beasty's life will be the gift of life, given in his memory over and over again.

Like Beasty, I always wanted to make one hundred blood donations. It will take me a little longer now, but one hundred thirty-one donations from today, Beasty and I will both reach our goals. At one donation every eight weeks, it's a little over twenty years away. I can't think of any better way to honour the memory of my friend, and it fills my heart with joy to know that I am doing what Beasty would have wanted.

Don Jackson