A 16-year-old was shot and killed in Philadelphia. His family donated his organs to save five lives.

Jaseem Thomas lay still in a hospital bed, his eyes closed. White gauze encircled his head, framing his young face. The 16-year-old could no longer breathe on his own; a ventilator was keeping him alive.

Thomas arrived at Penn Presbyterian Medical Center last month in grave condition after being shot six times — including twice in the head — as he was on his way to catch a trolley near his home in Southwest Philadelphia.

His mother rushed to his side at the hospital, where the doctors told her the damage to his brain was severe. If her son ever woke up, she said they told her, he would never be the same.

Shanae Thomas went home that night, and in her dreams, she said, her son came to her.

“He was smiling, and he just said, ‘Mom, I’m OK. I’m OK. I’m not hurting,’ ” she recalled. “And that gave me strength to deal with the next day.”

In the days that followed, doctors confirmed through multiple tests that Jaseem’s brain activity had ceased, and last Monday at 2:05 p.m., he was declared brain-dead.

Thomas said that even amid pain so raw that her vision blurred, she thought back to her dream, and knew how her son’s legacy could live on.

By donating his organs, she said, she could ensure that Jaseem’s killers would not get the last word. His story would not end with his murder.

“He can save somebody else’s life,” she said.

In fact, he saved five.

At 5 p.m. Tuesday, Jaseem’s health care team rolled his bed into the hospital hallway, where dozens of nurses, physicians, technicians, surgeons, and staff lined up. Like soldiers, they stood silently at attention, some crying and quietly thanking him as he headed toward the operating room to give the transformative gift of life to strangers.

Jaseem’s heart, lungs, kidneys, and liver were donated to five recipients “whose lives were transformed, based on this family’s generosity and kindness at their worst possible time,” said Rick Hasz, president and chief executive of the Philadelphia-based Gift of Life Donor Program.

His corneas were also recovered and will restore the vision of two people, he said.

Hasz expressed his condolences to the Thomas family and said he could not overstate the impact of their decision. “It restores my faith in humanity that his mother, Shanae, could think of others at that time,” he said.

“We think it’s a reflection of who Jaseem was and how he lived his life,” Hasz said. “Through his death, he was truly a hero.”

While Jaseem’s final, lifesaving gift has brought his family members some comfort, they’re still reeling from his violent death.

The teen was shot on the evening of April 27, as he walked down Woodland Avenue to catch the 11 trolley. At 6:12 p.m., a man emerged from a black SUV double parked across the street. He walked up to Jaseem and shot him six times — in the ankle, stomach, and head — then got back into the vehicle and drove off.

The motive for the shooting remains unclear, police say, and they don’t know if Jaseem knew his assailant. Jaseem, who had no criminal record, was carrying a gun at the time, but it had not been fired, said Deputy Police Commissioner Frank Vanore. Detectives continue to investigate.

Jaseem is one of 12 Philadelphia teens and children to die from gun violence this year, as young people have become increasingly victims and perpetrators of violence.

To Shanae Thomas, the carnage is senseless.

“He had goals, he didn’t deserve this,” she said of her son. “Where is the help? Where is the city?”

Her neighbor, Romelle Johnson, also lamented the violence that has claimed so many young lives. “Somebody woke up this morning and they know they shot that boy,” she said. “And more than likely it was another child.”

Jaseem Teshawn Thomas, known by loved ones as “Jaja” or “Seem,” was born on June 7, 2006 in Philadelphia’s Wynnefield neighborhood. He lived there until age 10, when his family moved to Southwest Philadelphia.

He graduated from S. Weir Mitchell Elementary School in Kingsessing, and was finishing up his junior year at Philadelphia Learning Academy South at the time of his death.

He kept his hair in small, twisted locs, and he never left home without looking his best, often dressed in designer brands like Balenciaga, Nike, Dior, and BAPE. Around his neck, he wore a silver chain with a pendant of a photo of his friend Quadir Beverly, who drowned in the Schuylkill in 2020.

Standing about 6′2″, Jaseem had a natural ability on the basketball court. He was a practicing Muslim and member of LevelUp, a West Philly organization that provides services, mentorship, and a safe space for young people to hang with friends. He and his mom were planning to pick up his identification card this week so he could apply for a summer job, she said.

He loved anime, his mother said, and was best at math and science in school. He was interested in learning Spanish, she said, and sometimes walked down to practice with the corner store owner.

But his favorite thing, his family said, was being an older brother to his three siblings, ages 13, 10, and 4.

“I could vent to him about anything,” said his sister Dash, 13. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this life without him.”

On a recent weekday, she wore his pink-and-red sweatshirt for comfort. She recalled sitting beside her brother’s hospital bed, holding his hand, and saying, “We need you.”

But she understands, she said, the gift he’s now been able to give others.

The ability to donate Jaseem’s organs was incredibly rare, Hasz said. To be a candidate for vital organ donation, a patient needs to be declared brain-dead on a ventilator with a heartbeat, and that happens in only about 1% to 2% of all deaths in the United States. Of those who are eligible, Hasz said, about two-thirds agree to donate. The result is there are more than 100,000 people nationwide on the transplant wait-list, and an average of 17 people die each day waiting for an organ. About 5% of Gift of Life’s 690 organ donors last year were victims of gun violence.

And yet, this is not the first time Jaseem saved lives.

Last February, as he and his cousin babysat their siblings, an electrical fire started inside their Southwest Philadelphia rowhome. Jaseem rushed to get all six of the younger children out of the home, refusing to leave anyone behind even as the flames expanded, his mother said.

Ultimately, she said, he emerged with part of his face burned and his hair singed. But he was filled with relief that everyone was safe.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better son,” Shanae Thomas said. “And now he’s gone.”

But not all of him.