Ten-Finger Exercises

Wednesdays are for wondering.

I'm still trying to win a flash fiction contest to no avail. Sometimes I read the other entries and know they're better. Sometimes not. Today's prompt was one I didn't want to deal with: a mother asking her daughter to help her die. But I did, because I've thought about the issues so many times in my career, and in my life some too.

My story today was "The Best I Could" . This one is fiction, at least the end. Mother did have Parkinson's, and had never wanted to live long past Daddy. Her own father had lived till 106, and she dreaded the thought. The thing she was most afraid of was a stroke or anything else that would affect her mind. She didn't know that Parkinson's could do that also, although she'd occasionally ask, "Am I losing my mind?" Knowing how terrified she was of that, and how she would not remember what I said but would remember the fear, I told her that she was losing part of her memory. That helped some. She had had a friend who had terminal cancer, and Mother was convinced that Dorothy had overdosed herself. Maybe so; I don't know. Mother would have done the same, had she had the faculties to do it, I think.

At one point, the doctor discovered she had very severe arterial stenosis which could have been 100% fixed with a new heart valve. If she'd been asked, "Do you want to keep living?" by then, thinking she was 17 yrs old again, she would probably have said yes. Instead, the wise doctor who know her thoughts on the matter from years before, asked, "Do you want to have surgery on your heart?"

She had no interest in having surgery at all.

Eventually she died because the heart valve got too bad. She couldn't breathe easily, got tired, and just plain gave up. She didn't want to eat, or talk, or anything. She was 89, chose not to have friends, and except for Bill and me, was pretty much alone.

If she'd been lucid, and if I'd had a bad cold and thought that pneumonia would have been an easier death, I might well have gone to see her as always. I don't know. I thought about it a lot.

They used to call pneumonia "the old man's friend." I think that's probably not far from wrong. I don't believe it's our duty to prevent death on all counts. Extending life is one thing. Prolonging death is another. Her soul had used out its useful life.