How We Honoured My Son
Sheldon Schultz was my youngest son, my baby.
I know I had to stop calling him my baby because he was a grown man, but secretly, I think he liked the fact that I still saw him as my precious baby.
The morning of 28 December
On the morning of 28 December 2025, at around 11:30, I received a phone call from Candice, someone I had never met before.
She told me that Sheldon had had a very serious fall while hiking in the mountains. The paramedics were with him, and they were waiting for a helicopter to lower the stretcher down to where he was. He would be taken to Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town.
The doctors would contact me once they knew more and told us when we could make the journey through from Somerset West.
We were supposed to leave on a hiking trip from 29 December until 3 January. We had planned to see Sheldon on 4 January to celebrate his 33rd birthday, which was on 2 January, and to meet the new woman in his life, Candice.
It had been six months since I had last seen Sheldon.
He had previously been married to a Muslim woman, but something had happened in that relationship and it had ended very abruptly. Sheldon withdrew from everyone after that.
The first time we reconnected was only four days before his death.
Sheldon’s spiritual journey
More than six years earlier, Sheldon had converted to Islam.
At first, it was a struggle for him to adapt to the new way of life. He often felt alone on the journey he had chosen, particularly because many of us, including his friends and family, did not fully understand the culture and faith.
My mother was an Austrian Jew. Although we are not Orthodox, spirituality has always been an open part of our family, and I accepted Sheldon’s decision and his spiritual path.
He adopted the name Malik Abdul.
Over time, as he learnt more about Islam and incorporated the faith and its daily rituals into his life, he became increasingly dedicated.
He questioned many things about life: the deeper meaning of our existence, our purpose on Earth, and the importance of family.
Sheldon had always been very deep on a spiritual level. He looked beyond the surface of life. He wasn’t interested only in chasing money or material things. He wanted to understand himself, to go within, to connect with nature and with God.
The journey to the hospital
We waited anxiously for feedback from the hospital.
Then the call came.
We could come through, but his head injury was very serious. The doctors did not yet know the full extent of the brain injury. They needed to stabilise his blood pressure before they could perform an MRI, and he had lost a significant amount of blood.
We chased behind a SAPS vehicle, with its lights and sirens going, all the way along the N2 and right up to the entrance of Groote Schuur Hospital.
Everything felt surreal.
I met Candice for the first time at the hospital. She explained that they had been hiking when Sheldon lost his footing and fell.
They had been filming their walk, taking photographs and enjoying their time together in nature. She had footage of the incident.
I asked to see it.
Hearing the sound of him falling and the impact was heartbreaking. In that moment, it became real in a way that words could not explain.
Sheldon was fit and healthy. He was a professional boxer and personal trainer. He loved being outdoors, being in nature, training his body, becoming fitter and enjoying good food.
He was only 32.
The diagnosis
The doctors eventually spoke to me.
They told me that Sheldon’s brain injury was extremely severe, but they needed to complete the scans before they could give us a definitive diagnosis.
We were told to go home because there was nothing more that could be done at that moment. His blood pressure needed to stabilise before they could continue with the scans.
So we left.
We went for a light dinner with my other son, Jarrod, my granddaughter Tatum, who absolutely adored her Uncle Sheldon, my best friend Maxine and my husband, Clint.
There was nothing we could do except wait.
At approximately 8:30 that evening, we received the call to return to the hospital.
The brain surgeon spoke to me and explained how severe Sheldon’s brain injury was. He showed me the scans and explained what we were seeing by comparing them with a normal brain.
Then he told me that Sheldon was brain dead and that the machines were keeping his body alive.
There are moments in life when time simply stops.
That was one of them.
The conversation about organ donation
A nurse came in with a doctor I had seen earlier while Sheldon was in the hospital.
They asked to have a family discussion with us.
They explained who they were and why they had come to speak to us.
The conversation was about the possibility of donating Sheldon’s organs.
Because Sheldon had become Muslim, we needed to inform the Imam and make sure that his wishes were understood within his faith.
His Muslim friends, who had been with us throughout those difficult hours, helped us navigate this.
But there was something important that gave me peace.
Sheldon had wanted to donate his organs.
It was something we had discussed years earlier, long before he converted to Islam and began this new chapter of his spiritual life.
He had always wanted to help others.
The hospital explained that they were preparing for the next stage of the process and that his organs and tissues that could be donated would be considered for transplantation.
It was an overwhelming conversation to have while we were still trying to understand that our son was dying.
But knowing that something of Sheldon could potentially give another person the chance to live was deeply meaningful.
The Muslim burial
Afterwards, we had to wait for Sheldon’s body to be released so that the Muslim burial procedures could take place.
Normally, the body would be released as quickly as possible, but the organ donation process caused delays.
It was also December, and there was already a backlog at the morgue.
On top of everything else, my son Jarrod had to run between Home Affairs and police stations, obtaining affidavits and documentation proving that Sheldon had converted to Islam so that his body could be released as soon as possible.
It was an enormous amount to deal with while we were grieving.
And then something happened that I will never forget.
The Muslim community
The Muslim community loved Sheldon.
They welcomed me, my family and all our friends with such extraordinary love, kindness and grace.
Although I was not Muslim, they made me feel included and supported.
The Muslim burial was one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had.
The singing, humming and chanting tones throughout the prayers were incredibly calming.
There was something about the rhythm of the prayers that settled my mind, my body and my soul.
In the middle of one of the most painful experiences of my life, I felt surrounded by compassion.
And I realised something about Sheldon.
Although his journey into Islam had initially created a distance between him and some of us because we did not understand his new way of life, in the end, this community had become an important part of who he was.
They loved him.
They honoured him.
And they stood beside us when we needed them most.
That is something I will always carry with me.
Tania Sutherland (pictured here with her son, Sheldon) has bravely shared her deeply moving story with us. It is a powerful reminder of how honouring a loved one’s wishes can bring healing even in the midst of tragedy. Tania, we are in awe of your courage and openness. Thank you.