I remember when my parents walked into my room on that morning. That morning. When my life changed. I was in year 11 and I knew something was so terribly wrong by the look of concern for me, and utter heartbreak for something else, unknown to me at the time, on their face. They had left our home earlier in the morning without waking us. When the sun was up, they had come home to pick up my brother and I, to go to St Vincent's hospital.

We couldn't understand what had happened. I remember sitting in the waiting room at the ICU being unable to see him as he was in surgery. I remember looking up at every single person that had walked past or walked in, thinking it was him. I remember eventually seeing him wheeled into ICU surrounded by nurses post-surgery and being excited that I saw him but so terribly devastated that he wasn't conscious, awake. 

He had recovered from his injuries after a few weeks but he wasn't the same. He was very handsome before the accident, had the biggest heart, believed in writing letters to his loved ones, looked after his younger brother and sister and protected us against the world. Forced us to clean up the house before he would take us anywhere, like the movies or for a drive - just for fun. 

He had eventually succumbed to his injuries. After a few months with us, going through rehab and trying his best to get better, my big brother, our biggest teacher, prankster - supporter and protector, passed away.

Nicholas chose to donate his organs. He made that clear to our parents before passing - before even knowing that this would happen. Our parents respected his wishes and passed that onto my brother and I - who registered at the first chance that we got to do the same thing.

That was 16 years ago. I am now starting to live a life of more years without him than I did with him. I hope that those that received his most generous gift are or have/had lived a fulfilling and happy life and loved games, jokes, laughing, supporting and loving those around them - as much as he ever did.