It’s not the dying that I fear. It’s inevitable, unavoidable, an immutable reality. The realization of our mortality is something most of us encounter somewhere along the way – often with the death of someone close to us. It stares us in the face, or it slowly dawns on us: we’re not here forever.
Don’t get me wrong. I have no desire to hasten the occasion. I’m enjoying life, and staying on the top side of the grass is definitely an ongoing goal. But it won’t last forever. There will be a point when it’s over. I get that. And when that time comes, I’ll go.
It’s the process to get to that point that worries me. And the new assisted dying legislation passed in Ottawa, which could have eased my mind, didn’t do that. It falls short, far short, of my need to plan my exit.
Assisted dying has my full support. When it comes to ending life, we treat dogs and cats and horses better than we treat ourselves. We don’t allow them to suffer. We allow human beings to suffer intolerable pain. And not only do we allow their families and friends to suffer with them, we somehow expect those family members to care for them, doubling their burden.
Yes, some feel it is their duty, their responsibility, their purpose to care for dying family. I get that too. And I commend them for that. But looking at it from my personal perspective, I don’t want to place that responsibility on my family. I want to enjoy them, and them to enjoy me, while my quality of life allows that. When that is over, it is my duty, my responsibility to make my exit.
They’ll get over it. And they will have fond memories of us enjoying each other’s companionship and love.
For that to happen, I need to be able to say here and now, while my mind is still sound and fully engaged, what to do with me when I am no longer in that state of mind. It is my body, it is my life, and I should be able to leave instructions for the whole end-of-life process while I am able.
The new federal legislation does not allow that. It tells me I can only make those decisions when my death is inevitable. Well, Justin and company, that may be too late; by that time I may not have the mental capacity to make those decisions.
We can leave instructions for the disposition of our money, for our funeral arrangements, for who gets the kids and the car and the house, for what happens to our pets… you name it. I can make all those decisions well ahead of time. Except the decision about what happens to me.
Never thought I’d ever say this, but the Senate had it right. They wanted to allow what I am talking about, but got shot down. Maybe they understood it better because they are all old fogies like me, and are closer to the end than that young whipper-snapper and his cohorts.
Granted, the assisted dying legislation, as it stands now, will help some. But as we all age, as life expectancies reach well into the 80-plus years, and as dementia becomes more prevalent, it ignores the realities of life – and death – to the detriment of those of us who are closer to the inevitable.
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