My mother's final gift, an unexpected phone call, and the questionnaire I wish we'd known about.

I couldn't tell you what building I was standing outside of when the phone rang. It could have been the bank, the cable company, or any number of places I found myself running errands after my mother died. I was simply trying to work through the seemingly endless list of things that needed to be done when I received a phone call I would never forget.

My mom, Donna, passed away unexpectedly on May 20, 2019, at just 58 years old. She was the kind of woman who would give you the shirt off her back, even if it meant going without something herself. Generosity was simply part of who she was, so it came as no surprise that she wanted to be an organ donor. Apparently, she wasn't finished giving.

What I hadn't considered was what honoring that decision might require of me.

I believe it was the following day when a woman from a donation organization called to ask questions about my mother's medical and personal history. I knew my mom wanted to be a donor, but I had no idea how the process worked or what would be expected of me. I certainly wasn't prepared for the conversation that followed.

The questions began with things you might expect: medical conditions, medications, previous illnesses, and other information necessary to determine whether someone could safely donate. But as the interview continued, the questions ventured into parts of my mother's life I never imagined discussing with a complete stranger.

Her sexual history. Past relationships. Personal behaviors and experiences that may have happened decades earlier. Questions involving not only what she'd done, but potentially what the people she'd been involved with had done themselves.

And then there was that little word: ever.

How was I supposed to know what my mother had ever done, let alone what everyone she'd ever been intimate with might have done?

My mom and I were incredibly close. She was my best friend, and we talked about practically everything. Sometimes she shared a little more than I probably needed to know, and she certainly wasn't shy about telling a good story. I knew about her marriages, her relationships, and some of the adventures she'd had along the way. She had been a bit of a wild child in her younger years, but knowing your mother well doesn't mean knowing every intimate detail of her life, nor does it mean you particularly want to.

As I stood there listening, I found myself mentally retracing her relationships, searching for conversations we'd had and trying to piece together information I'd never needed to consider before. Some things I knew. Others I could only speculate about. And there were things she'd shared with me in confidence that I never imagined I'd repeat to anyone else.

It almost felt like a betrayal.

There were stories and secrets I thought I'd carry to the grave, not because they were necessarily terrible things, but because they were hers. Things she may have been proud of, embarrassed by, or simply considered nobody else's business. Now I was being asked to share what I knew and acknowledge what I didn't, all while trying to process the fact that my mother was gone.

I remember offering far more explanation than the questions probably required. I wanted to provide context, explain circumstances, and somehow make sure the woman on the other end of the phone understood that my mother was so much more than a collection of medical risks and personal decisions. Looking back, I realize I was trying to defend her memory, even though no one had accused her of anything.

The woman conducting the interview was professional and respectful. She wasn't judgmental or pushy, and I understood that she was simply doing her job. These questions exist for important medical reasons, including protecting the people who may receive donated organs, eyes, and tissues. I don't fault her for asking them.

In fact, I'd spent years in the life insurance industry asking clients many of the same types of personal questions during the underwriting process. I understood the purpose behind gathering sensitive medical and behavioral information. I'd been on the other side of conversations like this countless times.

But this wasn't a client. This was my mother.

The conversation felt like it lasted two hours. I couldn't tell you how long it actually took, but I remember standing almost motionless outside that building, staring blankly ahead, searching my memory for answers while struggling with the guilt of sharing things I knew and not knowing things I thought perhaps I should.

When the conversation finally ended, I didn't cry. I was stunned. Angry, irritated, and honestly appalled that I'd been put in such an uncomfortable position when I'd barely had time to comprehend losing her. I remained unsettled for hours afterward, wondering whether I'd said too much, not enough, or something I shouldn't have said at all.

And then, as so often happens when someone dies, there wasn't time to dwell on any of it. The phone call was over, but the to-do list was still waiting.

I don't remember every detail of what happened with her donation. To the best of my memory, she was able to donate her skin and eyes, although that period of my life is still incredibly foggy. The donation organization continued reaching out in the years afterward, inviting donor families to gatherings celebrating their loved ones. I appreciated the invitations, but I couldn't bring myself to attend. The emotions surrounding that experience were still too difficult to revisit.

What troubled me wasn't the need for the questions. It was the realization that neither of us had known they were coming. I couldn't help wondering how different that phone call might have been if she had been given the opportunity to answer them herself.

That thought stayed with me, and I began looking for a copy of the questionnaire, or at least something resembling what I'd been asked. I wanted to understand the process better, but more importantly, I didn't want another family to be caught off guard the way I had been.

Seven years later, in 2026, I finally found what I'd been searching for: the Uniform Donor Risk Assessment Interview, a questionnaire used in tissue donor screening.

It wasn't necessarily the exact form used during my mom's donation process, but as I read through it, I recognized so many of the subjects that had made that phone call difficult.

I was ecstatic.

I immediately connected with my team to share the news and spent the next several days telling practically everyone I talked to. Finding a medical questionnaire might not sound like much to celebrate, but to me, it was a huge win. I finally had something tangible that could help another family prepare for a conversation I wished I'd never had to navigate without answers.

I couldn't help imagining what might have happened if I'd found that questionnaire while she was still alive.

She probably would have been embarrassed by some of the questions. Knowing her, I imagine she would have had a few things to say about having to put all that information on paper. But I believe she would have answered honestly, in her own time and in her own private space. She could have thought through the more difficult questions, looked up information she couldn't remember, and documented the details of her life without having to explain any of them to me.

And I would have left it unread.

I wouldn't have wanted to sit across the kitchen table asking my Moma those questions, even with my professional background. They were personal, and I respected her right to keep certain parts of her life private. Those were her experiences, her memories, and her stories to share or keep as she saw fit.

A sealed envelope with her end-of-life documents would have been one possibility, although with her death happening so suddenly, I might never have thought to look for it. That's why knowing a document exists and where to find it can be just as important as completing it.

Of course, having her answers wouldn't necessarily have eliminated the official donor-screening interview. Donation organizations have their own procedures and must evaluate information to protect recipients. But it could have given me something to reference instead of relying entirely on my memory during one of the most overwhelming times of my life.

I think about how many people check the organ donor box on their driver's license without giving much thought to what happens afterward. It's a meaningful decision, made with the intention of helping someone who may desperately need it. But there's another part of that decision worth considering: the family member who may receive a phone call and be asked to provide information they simply don't have.

Think about the forms you fill out every time you visit a new doctor's office. You sit down with a clipboard and answer questions about your medical history, medications, surgeries, and practically everything that's ever happened to you. It can be tedious, but you complete them because the information matters.

And let's face it, we can spend ten minutes taking a ridiculous Facebook quiz to find out which Star Wars or Marvel character we're most like. Surely, we can devote some of that energy to preparing information that could actually matter to the people we love.

If donation is important to you, I encourage you to take the time to understand what may be asked, prepare the information you're comfortable documenting, and make sure someone knows where to find it. You don't have to share every personal detail with your loved ones today. You can respect your own privacy while still giving them a place to start.

I can't change that phone call I received, and I wouldn't change her generous nature or the wishes she left behind. But I can share what I've learned in hopes that someone else will be better prepared.

Donna spent her life giving what she could to others, and her decision to donate was one more reflection of the person she was. I only wish she'd known there was one more thing she could have left for me.

Her answers.

1. Review the donor questionnaire.

Start with the Uniform Donor Risk Assessment Interview (UDRAI) for donors older than 12, published by the Association for Advancing Tissue and Biologics (AATB).

The 16-page questionnaire includes 50 numbered questions, many with follow-up questions, covering medical history, medications, travel, personal behaviors, sexual history, and other information relevant to tissue donor screening.

The December 17, 2024 edition is the latest core version listed as of October 2026. AATB also publishes supplemental screening materials, including an August 2026 Ebola-related addendum.

View the official donor questionnaire (PDF)

View AATB's questionnaire resources and updates

This particular questionnaire is designed for professional tissue donor screening. Organ and eye donation organizations may use different forms or procedures.

2. Prepare your answers privately.

Review the questions at your own pace and document what you know. Some answers may require looking through medical records or recalling information from years ago. Use the questionnaire as a preparation guide rather than an officially completed donor-screening interview.

3. Store your information securely.

Consider keeping your answers in a sealed envelope with your end-of-life documents or in a securely protected digital file. This information may be deeply personal, so choose a storage method that protects your privacy and limits unnecessary access.

4. Let someone know where to find it.

You don't have to share the contents today. Simply tell someone you trust that you've prepared information to assist with donation screening and explain where it can be accessed if needed.

5. Contact the donation organizations serving your area.

Ask about their screening requirements, whether they provide preparation materials, and whether they offer an approved, secure way to receive information ahead of time. Requirements can differ, and advance submission may not be available.

6. Keep your information current.

Review your answers periodically, particularly when your health, medications, travel, or other relevant circumstances change. Up-to-date information will be more useful if your family ever needs it.

Important: The UDRAI is a professional tissue donor-screening tool, not a universal organ, eye, and tissue donation application. Preparing answers in advance does not replace the official screening process or guarantee donation eligibility.