I really and truly meant to choose something light, upbeat, something sorta, kinda, “cutesy” for today’s blog, but cutesy doesn’t come easy with me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a fun-loving and all-around happy person as any I know. At 88, I still roll out of bed in the morning pain-free and with my brain still perking along, as far as I know, on all cylinders, whatever they are. I have little comprehension of what lies under the hood of a car, but I’ve exchanged a few flat tires in my life. True, it was before lugs were tightened by air compression. I’m happy and well-adjusted, but also a most logically-minded woman which allows me to think on such things as my own eventual departure into death without becoming morbid. I did not fear anything before I was born and have nothing to fear after I die. Whatever I was born with, will die with me. I just don’t want the process to take any longer than necesasary. With that. . .
Though I know the years are few before I will be history,
it’s not the dying that I fear: it’s those who want their say
in just what way, in just what manner I shall die,
in just what manner I shall lie,
pleading someone speed the day
that death releases me.
I do not bow my knee to gods or to their earthly devotees,
so when it comes my turn, than please,
take to heart this final plea . . .
Fido aged? Decrepit, he? Every day in agony?
Though it no doubt will make you weep,
you’ll have him gently put to sleep.
Compassionate thee!
But should the victim, human-be,
seek escape from pain, then he
must endure his sad condition:
no release and no remission.
God alone must set him free.
But the Lord must bide intentions
because man—and his inventions—
has interceded—playing God—
thereby keeping from the sod
those who would rather skip extensions.
When my turn to die has come,
I wish no moratorium
spent in pain bequeathed me by
those who deem that God on high,
has decreed my martyrdom.
Give me the same compassion, please,
you’d give a dying Pekinese!
Though I am loved and tears may flow
when my turn comes, please help me go!
when i tell people i have no doubt that i will take my own life some day,, they think it is sick and morbid… i will not live with Alzheimer’s having its way with my brain as have the last two generations of females in my family,,, nor will i sit by and allow my disease or pain ridden flesh to rot slowly at the hands of the medical community… tell me i have Alzheimer’s,, or a life altering disease,, and i am sure,, as soon as the initial shock has warn off,, i will be hording enough prescription medications, or street drugs, if the case for them presents itself,, and making my own final decisions….
bravo mary!!!
i have a post about this called on suicide on my …why paisley??? blog a year or so ago…
Hi, Paisley, I read your “essay?” and some of it was like acknowledging and reading my own words. Death is the result of having been born, so why make it a foridden subject? I’ve live life to its fullest for as long as I can, and then, to the best of my ability, accept the inevitable. Good to have you “onboard”.
I have to confess I ponder this one. One time my brother was in a coma, and they asked us what we wanted to do. Before we could make up our minds, he slipped back into consciousness. I always wonder if we had not needed to pause a few days to think…and yet, in my own case, I wouldn’t want to linger if my mind or body was useless or in pain. I just don’t know. I really consider life to be such a precious spark regardless of its manifestation…
Yes, Jo, Life is precious and I want to live just as long as I can, but only for as long as I can fend for myself. I feel that as an adult in full control of my mental falculties, the decision to refuse resuscitation is mine and mine alone. Not my husbands if he were still living, not my children’s, not my sister’s, not my doctor’s and definitely not society’s. Fortunately, those who would keep me living against my will, have, to a great extent, been restrained by the application of a signed and documented “living will”. My husband had such a will which the medics, who came to the house shortly after he died, honored. I have signed such a will and given a copy to my doctor. My children are aware that such a will exists and that I expect them to honor it. My condolences to you for the loss of your brother. I lost my only brother, older by two years to Parkinson’s disease a couple of years ago. I didn’t see much of him after we both married and moved apart, but he was one wonderful brother during our childhood.
This is so interesting. I was in a writers’ group last summer and one of the writers was working on a play that twists people’s sense of right and wrong to the point that you don’t know what you’d do in the same situation. The subject: assisted death. Really well done, Mary.
And, I say, cutesy is not cutesy if it’s not you. I love reading the real Mary. Boy, I’ve missed a lot while I was gone.
I do not have a website but I do have a question about Dr. Kervorkian. Do you know, if he would still be willing to help out other personal with medecal problem. My wife is having some problems and she thinks that HE is the only way to get help. Yes she has been talking about him for the past couple of years. Her pain has been going on for over 10 years. Just please give me some ideas Thanks….
Geoff is not my real name. And I get a lot of junk mail. So if you use it. I’ll know where it came from. Thank
Jo, I know, it’s taken me some time to get around to acknowledging your comment. Sometimes I think my age is beginning to slow me down a bit. You did not mention how long your brother was in a coma before regaining consciousness, and that makes a difference as to how I would feel about “pulling the tubes”. For every such recovery, I wonder how many others spend years being kept alive by artifical means, disrupting a family’s daily life and draining a family’s financial resouces.
I remember the day my doctor told me that she could put my mother in a hospital where she would have had most of her stomach removed and kept alive for perhaps two, three, or more months. I chose to keep her home with me. My doctor showed me how to use a hypodermic needle and how much demerol to give her to keep her out of pain. When that no longer worked, she gave me a bottle of morphine and the amount to use. I gave my mother a shot at ten that evening. She died during the night. Did I give her a bit too much? I hope so.
Geoff, I trust my comment to Jo, helps you to understand how I feel about keeping a dear one alive when it is clear that anything resembling “life”, is no longer possible. Other than contacting The Hemlock Society, P.O. Box, 11830, Eugene, Oregon, I have no “advice” to give. The “overly-religious” and the “far-right” have made common sense a crime.