Dying to Die
Recently, a woman diagnosed with terminal brain cancer committed suicide. She made her decision very public and drew much attention from right-to-die and right-to-life folks alike. Death with dignity. The right to choose one's own destiny. The right to die when and where and how it suits the individual. It all sounds so reasonable, except that it's not.
Physician assisted death is really a euphemism for suicide, which is, in turn, a euphemism for murder, or at the least, a name for a particular type of murder.
Death is not very dignified, it's not meant to be. It is the ultimate slap in the face, the ultimate losing of control. It's terrifying and uncertain and out of our governance. But how we die is not really about us, it's about our loved ones and our caregivers. It's about letting those around us rise above it all and give us the love and care they want us to have, to comfort us, to be with us to the end.
I have had the privilege of sitting with three people as they lay dying. I did and said and felt things I never thought I could. I forgot all about myself and my petty problems and my mundane life. I lost myself in serving the dying or helping the dying's loved ones as they grieved. Life became so very dear to me. I watched health care professionals deliver care of the utmost in dignity and respect to the dying, and it greatly encouraged me, and engendered in me a deep respect for them. It was a precious gift from the dying to be able to be with them. It was painful to be with them. And that's the beauty in dying: the gifts left behind. They were on their way out of this world, but left behind treasured memories, painful memories, beautiful memories.
And this woman in the news took that away from all her loved ones and the wonderful folks that earn a living caring for the dying. She denied them the weeks or months of her natural life, to spend with her, caring for her, loving her, saying goodbye to her. It was an act of selfishness and cowardice. Sure, they were with her as she took the deadly pills, and watched her die, but they were really not as much a part of her death as they were a part of her murder. They were cheated.
There is no dignity in selfishness. There is no dignity in cowardice. There is no dignity in murder. The whole death-with-dignity movement is a lie. Choosing one's own death is cheating. It cheats the living. Don't get me wrong; if I received a terminal diagnosis, I would be tempted to stand a bit too close to the edge of a cliff, or not bother to look before crossing a busy street. Nobody wants to lie in a hospital bed dying bit by bit. Nobody wants to slowly lose their mind to dementia. None wants to think about their body being eaten up by cancer.
But once we understand that we are in a fallen world, that death was not part of the plan to begin with, that death is the result of being in sinful bodies, does dying make sense. Not that our sin necessarily directly causes our death, but the very nature of being human is to be sinful, and the end result, the only result, of that nature is death. It is inevitable, and painful and sad. And even though to be human means to be sinful, we also have an incredible capacity to love and serve and sacrifice. When we pour out our lives and hearts in caring for the dying, we lay bare a part of ourselves that is beautiful. And others get to see this: friends and neighbors and the caregivers in the hospital and hospice. And those caregivers encourage and strengthen the families of the dying, in a beautiful circle or sacrifice and courage. But when someone murders themselves, this is all denied to those around them. Their fellow humans, and their loved ones are denied part of the essence of being human.
And so I read of this woman's death with great sadness, a heaviness of heart. Not because I knew her or any of her loved ones. But because she took away that beautiful part of being a human from those she loved, and its effects ripple well beyond her circle. It lapped up on the shores of my life and yours, and I am left with a sadness unnamed, unreachable, unconsolable.
Physician assisted death is really a euphemism for suicide, which is, in turn, a euphemism for murder, or at the least, a name for a particular type of murder.
Death is not very dignified, it's not meant to be. It is the ultimate slap in the face, the ultimate losing of control. It's terrifying and uncertain and out of our governance. But how we die is not really about us, it's about our loved ones and our caregivers. It's about letting those around us rise above it all and give us the love and care they want us to have, to comfort us, to be with us to the end.
I have had the privilege of sitting with three people as they lay dying. I did and said and felt things I never thought I could. I forgot all about myself and my petty problems and my mundane life. I lost myself in serving the dying or helping the dying's loved ones as they grieved. Life became so very dear to me. I watched health care professionals deliver care of the utmost in dignity and respect to the dying, and it greatly encouraged me, and engendered in me a deep respect for them. It was a precious gift from the dying to be able to be with them. It was painful to be with them. And that's the beauty in dying: the gifts left behind. They were on their way out of this world, but left behind treasured memories, painful memories, beautiful memories.
And this woman in the news took that away from all her loved ones and the wonderful folks that earn a living caring for the dying. She denied them the weeks or months of her natural life, to spend with her, caring for her, loving her, saying goodbye to her. It was an act of selfishness and cowardice. Sure, they were with her as she took the deadly pills, and watched her die, but they were really not as much a part of her death as they were a part of her murder. They were cheated.
There is no dignity in selfishness. There is no dignity in cowardice. There is no dignity in murder. The whole death-with-dignity movement is a lie. Choosing one's own death is cheating. It cheats the living. Don't get me wrong; if I received a terminal diagnosis, I would be tempted to stand a bit too close to the edge of a cliff, or not bother to look before crossing a busy street. Nobody wants to lie in a hospital bed dying bit by bit. Nobody wants to slowly lose their mind to dementia. None wants to think about their body being eaten up by cancer.
But once we understand that we are in a fallen world, that death was not part of the plan to begin with, that death is the result of being in sinful bodies, does dying make sense. Not that our sin necessarily directly causes our death, but the very nature of being human is to be sinful, and the end result, the only result, of that nature is death. It is inevitable, and painful and sad. And even though to be human means to be sinful, we also have an incredible capacity to love and serve and sacrifice. When we pour out our lives and hearts in caring for the dying, we lay bare a part of ourselves that is beautiful. And others get to see this: friends and neighbors and the caregivers in the hospital and hospice. And those caregivers encourage and strengthen the families of the dying, in a beautiful circle or sacrifice and courage. But when someone murders themselves, this is all denied to those around them. Their fellow humans, and their loved ones are denied part of the essence of being human.
And so I read of this woman's death with great sadness, a heaviness of heart. Not because I knew her or any of her loved ones. But because she took away that beautiful part of being a human from those she loved, and its effects ripple well beyond her circle. It lapped up on the shores of my life and yours, and I am left with a sadness unnamed, unreachable, unconsolable.
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