Last month it was reported that British Opera maestro Edward Downes, 85, and his wife of 54 years, Joan, 74, died in an assisted suicide clinic in Switzerland. Their two children held their parents’ hands in their final moments, and later issued a statement that, "After 54 happy years together, they decided to end their own lives rather than continue to struggle with serious health problems.”
Downes, knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1991, was almost totally blind and increasingly deaf. His wife, a dancer, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Downes’ manager, Jonathan Groves, while stunned by the news, described the action as, “typically brave and courageous.”
I didn’t know Sir Edward or his wife, but I would agree with Mr. Groves. Suicide-- an act many of us were brought up to view as cowardly and sinful-- can often be the ultimate brave and even compassionate act of rationale human beings.
Our judgment of those who choose to die is too often based not on what such decisions mean for the person dying, but on what those decisions may mean for those left behind. When adults have lived their lives, contributed in some way to society, or long suffered in isolation, unable or unwilling to find serenity, they ought to be free to peacefully exit at will.
I watched my brother die of pancreatic cancer. I saw a strapping man vomit himself into an emaciated shadow of his former self. I cooked him meals he said he craved, that he would devour with gusto, unable to keep them down for more than ten minutes. I saw him weep for his children and thrash in helplessness for the freedom from pain that eluded him. Only after his suffering had spanned five months of misery for him and for all those around him did people see his death as a “blessing.”
Death may be a blessing whether it arrives on it own, or when people summon it earlier than others may feel is appropriate. Whether the body surrenders to age, illness or fatal injury, or one’s heart stops because that person is determined to stop it; the sleep that follows may always be sweet.
Only the harsh judgment of others, unable to get inside the skin of the suffering and exhausted person, smacks of bitterness, and seems more sinful than any suicide ever could be.
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Downes, knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1991, was almost totally blind and increasingly deaf. His wife, a dancer, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Downes’ manager, Jonathan Groves, while stunned by the news, described the action as, “typically brave and courageous.”
I didn’t know Sir Edward or his wife, but I would agree with Mr. Groves. Suicide-- an act many of us were brought up to view as cowardly and sinful-- can often be the ultimate brave and even compassionate act of rationale human beings.
Our judgment of those who choose to die is too often based not on what such decisions mean for the person dying, but on what those decisions may mean for those left behind. When adults have lived their lives, contributed in some way to society, or long suffered in isolation, unable or unwilling to find serenity, they ought to be free to peacefully exit at will.
I watched my brother die of pancreatic cancer. I saw a strapping man vomit himself into an emaciated shadow of his former self. I cooked him meals he said he craved, that he would devour with gusto, unable to keep them down for more than ten minutes. I saw him weep for his children and thrash in helplessness for the freedom from pain that eluded him. Only after his suffering had spanned five months of misery for him and for all those around him did people see his death as a “blessing.”
Death may be a blessing whether it arrives on it own, or when people summon it earlier than others may feel is appropriate. Whether the body surrenders to age, illness or fatal injury, or one’s heart stops because that person is determined to stop it; the sleep that follows may always be sweet.
Only the harsh judgment of others, unable to get inside the skin of the suffering and exhausted person, smacks of bitterness, and seems more sinful than any suicide ever could be.
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