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Chris was too young to die. But not to save five lives. 

鈥淲ho wouldn鈥檛 want this body?鈥� 

A decade ago, that was 19-year-old Christopher Gregory鈥檚 mischievous way of explaining to his parents why he had become an organ donor when he renewed his Maryland driver鈥檚 license. He was chatting with his family on a break during his second semester at Loyola New Orleans. His father, Eric Gregory, would recall the wisecrack years later for two reasons: First, it captured his son鈥檚 sense of humor. And second, it was tragically prescient. 

Just days after he made the remark, Chris died suddenly from a ruptured brain aneurysm.

In the days following his death, the Gregory family鈥攚ho had flown from Baltimore to New Orleans to be with their son鈥攇rappled with their grief and shock. Meanwhile, five near-death strangers on the organ transplant waiting list got a call. They dropped what they were doing鈥攍eaving a doctor鈥檚 office, making final financial arrangements, getting ready for a cookout at work鈥攁nd rushed to nearby hospitals鈥攊n Shreveport, Louisiana, and New Orleans, and in Jacksonville, Florida. Chris鈥檚 lungs, heart, liver, pancreas, two kidneys, corneas, and tissues were recovered, then flown or driven to hospitals for transplantation. Recipients included a then-63-year old family member and executive with the Bacardi Rum dynasty, who flew to Jacksonville from the Bahamas, as well as a 46-year-old entrepreneur, a 64-year-old retired office manager, and two former military men in their 50s鈥攁ll from towns across Louisiana. 

Even in his despair, Eric Gregory, a UPS risk manager now based in Phoenix, was impressed by the complex logistics, timing, and rapid coordination required to pull off this uncommon five-way organ donation. He prayed that someday he would be able to meet the people receiving the gift of his son鈥檚 organs. 

Eric also was acutely aware of the professionalism of the people who helped, and the many kindnesses he and his family鈥攕ons John and Colin, and wife Grace鈥攔eceived in their darkest hour. There was the Cajun male nurse who teared up as he conducted the final, unsuccessful test for brain activity in Chris. There was the surgeon who confided that he had lost his own son from a brain aneurysm. There were the Jesuit priests from Loyola New Orleans, always present, offering holy sacraments and support. There were Loyola students who filled the waiting room. And there were the nurses who, silent but with tears streaming down their faces, lined the hallway as Chris鈥檚 family said goodbye to him. 

Marveling at the drama and humanity packed into those few days, the father would think often, 鈥淭his is a story that should be told.鈥�

So, nine years later, Eric put the story on the page. In 2017 he self-published All My Tomorrows: A Story of Tragedy, Transplant and Hope. The book chronicles in compelling detail the story of Chris鈥檚 life and death as it affected his friends, campus community, medical personnel, family, and others. 

Chris was big in stature as well as in heart: 6 feet, 4 inches, nearly 200 pounds. His shoes were size 14. He was exuberant; while visiting a friend, he once launched himself into bed with his friends鈥� parents to watch TV with them, ignoring their shocked laughter鈥攁s if this were the most normal thing in the world. He had shockingly bad fashion sense, probably thanks in part to his color blindness. He was a kind and clever jokester who occasionally underachieved in school in favor of having a good time. Guitar and baseball were his loves. He charmed his friends鈥� families into giving him 鈥渞efrigerator rights鈥� at their homes. 

The book also weaves in stories from the people given a new chance at life thanks to Chris. Eric was able to meet them in person, to interview them鈥攁nd befriend them. The reader learns intimate details, such as how many of the recipients went through agonizing 鈥渇alse alarms鈥� prepping for organs that ended up not working out鈥攊n Jorge Bacardi鈥檚 case, only hours before he was matched with Chris鈥檚 lungs. Or how some recipients grappled with ethical questions like whether someone over 60 should receive a young man鈥檚 organs. Or how kidney recipient Nic Whitacre was literally sent home to die the day Chris鈥檚 death certificate was signed; Whitacre was one of several recipients who were saying their final goodbyes when they got 鈥渢he call.鈥� 

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 realize how close to death they were until I met them,鈥� says Chris鈥檚 mother, Grace. 鈥淭hey were looking at death at the same time that Chris was looking at death.鈥� 

In writing the book, Eric said he wanted to bring to life the tales of how these lives and hopes intersect.

鈥淚f their lives matter, then Chris鈥檚 life mattered and his sacrifice means something,鈥� he reasoned. 鈥淲ithout the miracle of organ transplantation, I鈥檓 just another grieving parent who can鈥檛 wait for Father鈥檚 Day to end. It all speaks to the integrity and dignity of human life. We鈥檙e all in this together.鈥�

Major Motion Picture 
We are also about to see Chris鈥檚 story on the big screen. A few years ago, now-healthy Jorge Bacardi and Man on Firemovie producer Conrad Hool wound up on the same Pacific cruise and got to talking. Chris鈥檚 story is being made into a motion picture titled 2 Hearts. Filming, in both Vancouver and Hawaii, started in June and was expected to wrap up July 31. It stars up-and-coming teen heartthrob Jacob Elordi as Chris, and will focus largely on the stories of Chris and Jorge, who will be played by Designated Survivor actor Adan Canto. 

Conrad Hool鈥檚 daughter, Carla, is the casting director. She won an industry award for her casting in the blockbuster animated film Coco and has received praise for her efforts to expand roles for Latinx actors in films. Eric is being played by Tahmoh Penikett, best known as Helo on Syfy鈥檚 Battlestar Gallactica. Actress Kari Matchett plays Grace. 

The journey to filming had some bumps. Eric, Grace, and the Bacardis spent several years going back and forth with a series of writers over screenplays that didn鈥檛 quite ring true. For instance, the first writer had Chris calling his friends 鈥渂ro鈥濃�攚hich he didn鈥檛 do. The writer also had Chris taking selfies. 鈥淐hristopher would kick his own ass before he鈥檇 take a selfie,鈥� says Eric, and he laughs. 鈥淐hristopher was not Pee-wee Herman, he was Steve McQueen. He didn鈥檛 let his guard down in front of people he didn鈥檛 know.鈥�

Hool was sympathetic. His niece, Veronica Hool, an actor and screenwriter, ultimately sat down with Eric鈥檚 book and tried to really channel Christopher. 

鈥淪he nailed it,鈥� Eric says. 鈥淭he final version made me laugh, and it made me cry.鈥� 

Grace says she cherishes having Chris鈥檚 memory kept alive鈥攖hrough the book, through organ recipients, and now the movie鈥攁lthough it is bittersweet. 鈥淎s a parent, you are so proud of your son for saving five lives, probably countless lives with tissue donation we don鈥檛 even know about,鈥� she says. 鈥淲e are reminded of Chris every time we correspond with any of his organ recipients. It is a complete blessing.鈥�

This Whole Person 
Eric also says the people he has met on this journey brought him back to a life of purpose. 鈥淚 thought I had buried my passion the same day I buried Chris,鈥� he says. Now, 鈥渢here are two things I鈥檓 really passionate about: organ donation and the Society of Jesus. The people involved in both are good, decent people, doing good things in the world. I want to be a stronger advocate for both.鈥� 

The Jesuit roots run deep in the Gregory family. Eric received his bachelor鈥檚 and master鈥檚 degrees from Georgetown University, where eldest son John also received his master鈥檚 degree. John and middle son Colin both went to Gonzaga High School in Washington, D.C., and Colin graduated from Loyola New Orleans, which Chris was attending when he died.

Eric said his family greatly admires the Jesuit ethos of educating the whole person, and 鈥渕eeting people where they are鈥濃�攅ven if that means entering messy emotional situations, such as in a dying teen鈥檚 room at Tulane鈥檚 medical center. 鈥淚t seems at every big event in the Gregory family, there鈥檚 been a Jesuit in the room,鈥� he says. 

Grace says she will always be grateful that Jesuits Jim Caime, S.J., M.Div. 鈥�02, and Ted Dziak, S.J., were there for whatever the family or their close friends needed, be it lodging, food, or solace. 鈥淭hey led us in prayer and they prayed with us, and with their presence I felt completely carried,鈥� she says. 鈥淚n that regard, I didn鈥檛 worry about anything.鈥� 

Eric wrote about how Caime frequently accompanied Colin outside to the medical center grounds to smoke Parliaments when the stress got unbearable. 鈥淟eave it to a Jesuit to know just what to do at a moment like that,鈥� Gregory wrote in his book. 鈥淐olin didn鈥檛 need any lectures on scripture or lessons on grace or the sacraments鈥� He needed someone to share a cigarette with.鈥�

Theological Studies 
Eric Gregory鈥檚 quest to become a better advocate for organ donation also led him to sign up for an online master鈥檚 of theological studies degree though 黑料网鈥檚 Jesuit School of Theology in 2017. 

鈥淚f you get a chance to go to school at the Jesuit School of Theology, and that鈥檚 one of your passions, why wouldn鈥檛 you do it?鈥� he says. And a theology degree provides the foundation he wants to tackle head on the huge moral, ethical, and social issues that arise with organ donation. He鈥檚 also become, as he puts it, 鈥渦napologetically opposed鈥� to war and the death penalty, as well as abortion and physician-assisted suicide. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to judge anyone who isn鈥檛,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut I want to find what we can do to make each unnecessary. And let鈥檚 work to get there.鈥�

As he explains, the tragedy of losing his son has made Eric feel protective of life in all its forms. 鈥淥nce you鈥檝e picked out a casket for your own child, you look at life differently,鈥� he says.