Everybody gets to meet the Grim Reaper when it’s time.
Hopefully, the deceased was lucky to have enjoyed a very full and rewarding life surrounded by relatives and friends who loved him. The most one can hope for is that the final reckoning will not have been preceded by months or years of physical wasting and pain.
My father was one of those very lucky people who appeared healthy but simply died in his sleep one night (heart attack?) curled up around my mom. They call this benevolent passing a “King’s Death” because the victim doesn’t suffer, and his loved ones are spared the heart-wrenching drama of watching a human being withering away in pain.
How can I order up one of those King’s Deaths?
A few States allow euthanasia (i.e. legal suicide) for those doomed folks who are terminally sick and in miserable condition. It seems to me that this is the right thing to do when appropriate. Who knows better than the patient the level of misery that he is enduring? When there is no hope on the horizon, and life is not fun anymore, shouldn’t it be his call on the time and manner of death?
Why not? Why should some doctor, lawyer, politician, or priest make these decisions for people they hardly know?
I raise this morbid subject today because I have a close friend/neighbor who is very depressed by a mystery ailment that has reduced his life to lying in bed or sitting in a reclining chair waiting for the next horrible spell of dizziness and vertigo. We go for a short walk each morning (his medical condition allowing) and every day he mentions the prospect of suicide because, “I can’t stand living like this. It’s not living.”
I agree.
My friend, who recently turned 70 years old, has lived a very full and rewarding life. He’s had a good marriage, sired some fine children, and enjoyed a long and fulfilling career. He’s been retired for fifteen years and has taken that opportunity to hike in the mountains, play guitar and sing at community events, and ride his bike long distances. He loves the outdoors, or at least he did before his medical condition precluded him from driving a car, riding a bike, or hiking in the local mountains. He loves music but can’t sit in an upright chair for any length of time.
He can’t do anything anymore except lay about his home waiting for the onslaught of another dizzy/vertigo spell. Doctors have been unable to diagnose his problem or afford him medical help. It is a crappy way to end the very fine life he has lived.
On our walks each day, he always brings up the subject of suicide. Today, he wondered aloud if there was any way he could get ahold of fentanyl… so he could self-administer a King’s Death.
Jeez, I know this friend of mine is miserable and super-depressed and resigned to leaving this mortal coil before he is shuffled off to a hospice facility to wither away. But should I (or any of his other true friends) help in any way? It would probably be the truest test of friendship, but such “assistance” might produce some heavy guilt down the road. And/or a legal problem, to boot.
I think that he and his wife need to work together on this project when it comes to that.
I’m almost 76 years young now and, certainly, my life is also winding down. I’m still relatively healthy but I can no longer do most of the things that used to “float my boat” like running, golfing, bowling, riding a horse, surfing, playing pool, and skiing. The loss of coordination and strength has really become evident during the past ten years.
Gee, it was only eight years ago that I shot in the 70’s in golf and bowled a couple of 300 games, and maybe five years ago that I climbed Mt. Whitney. Nowadays, I must satisfy myself with short hikes, walking the dogs, traveling in my RV, and doing my blog.
Low energy activities for a low energy guy.
But at least I am not suffering from some depressing physical malady or two. My poor wife Charlie has all manner of medical issues and needs to take a couple of dozen pills a day just to function. I don’t know how she does it. She’s got some major stomach surgery coming up in 30 days, the poor gal.
Who knows how long we have ‘til the End of the Line? My mom lived to almost 89 and her mom lived to 90, I believe. All of my three siblings are still alive and kicking. All of Charlie’s siblings are still alive and relatively well and her mom lived into her 80’s. We could live that long.
Neither one of us wants to live to be an old fossil who drools all day and can’t remember what he had for breakfast. My mom was a wreck when she died; it was very sad.
Charlie and I are celebrating our 50th year together this year. We’ve had a great life together, enjoyed fulfilling careers, seen the world, raised four fine sons, and had great times with interesting people that we’ve met. We are now living comfortably in retirement, enjoying the hell out of our home and our three Boston Terrier dogs.
Whenever the time comes for either or both of us, we will have lived and loved, enjoyed our time to the fullest, and maybe left this world a bit better off.
I hope my friend can find the peace that he needs and deserves.