To be upfront and clear however, I’m not thinking about committing suicide.
I’m not even sparing much thought for my failed attempts as a ‘troubled youth’ – whatever that means, other than to wonder at how it’s been more than half a lifetime since then, which is easily double what I’d expected.
No, I’ve been thinking about Ben’s decision earlier this year. Can’t help it. It’s like a sore tooth, or a pebble in my shoe. It nags at me. I was reading a post from a friend who lives in Nelson, and it reminded me of how he’d worked and lived there, and some of the events that occurred – not all good.
I was standing in the shower this morning, thinking (as that is really a fine place to ponder deep thoughts). I had a momentary flash of insight, that no decision to end your life really includes significant thought for what follows.
I don’t mean for you, you’re dead obviously. I mean for the people who remain. How they remember you. How they forget you. How your story is over, and you become a part of history. Your parents lose a child, your children lose a parent, your spouses lose a spouse in turn. Your friends lose a part of their life, and then build a life that doesn’t include you – like soldiers marching the gap is filled eventually with another.
In almost all cases, it’s a poor choice. Humans like other animals fear death, because just like animals they instinctively know the end is the end. No amount of fantastic wishing will make that not so, no matter how loudly people proclaim their delusions in public. In private, in the dark, there is fear. The end of all things is not something to be taken lightly. It’s certainly not a decision that should be made by or with emotion. Despair or rage can override fear, or at least mask it until the deed is done, but they are a poor substitute for properly weighing the options. As a human. As a transient existence.
All of this said, I do hope by the time I’m respectably old some of the stigmas around assisted suicide have faded further. I certainly won’t be living forever, and at a certain point I’ll want to be the one making the decisions around how long I continue limping along. Waiting for everything to just break seems .. a bit inhumane. We don’t subject our pets to that (or at least, not intentionally). Surely a human deserves treatment at least as good as the family dog? Even better in fact, since we can express our wishes clearly.
This has run on longer than I’d intended, so I’m going to cut this short.
