The Last Thing Mom Asked [View all]
Right now my mother is in bed across the hall, in the endgame of Stage 4 lung cancer. She is nearly 83, she has had enough, and she is ready to die. More specifically, she is ready to have me help her die.
I can see her point.
An unsentimental, practical person, she has for many years been preparing for the moment when death would become more alluring than life. We have talked about it nonstop since she received her diagnosis about three months ago and, like Gloria Swanson going up in a blaze of grand pronouncements, declared that she intended to forgo chemotherapy.
“I would rather die than lose my hair,” she said airily to the startled oncologist, before terrorizing the hospital physiotherapist by snapping: “I could be dead in three months. Do you really think it’s going to make a difference if I get out of bed and walk around for five minutes now?”
So she went home to die. She was her regular funny, astringent self.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/31/sunday-review/mother-death-euthanasia.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage
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