Commentary: My father was a public servant honored for his integrity. A WWII Marine pilot in the Pacific. Twice during my childhood he got sued for speaking frankly. He won. I was rebellious, and we disagreed, sometimes loudly. But each year I appreciate more deeply what Father taught me about how to live.
His father died young, from heart disease. Father had it too. In 1980 he had open-heart surgery. We talked about the fact that he might die. He’d lived with that possibility in the Pacific, and faced it head-on – without letting it distract him.
In 1996 the heart was finally giving out. Doctors could do nothing more. He had between two weeks and six months. He would keep getting weaker. No more bridge, swimming, reading the Times or making love to his girlfriend. (They'd each maintained a long, loving marriage that ended with the spouse’s death.)
Father decided that, although life had been a wonderful party, it was time to leave.
He asked me to help him depart. I did.
That night he ate supper with my sister, her husband and me. After supper, in his bedroom, he asked me to help him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I guessed he’d changed his mind. We said goodnight and started to leave. He said, “Wait! Aren't we going to . . .”
So we did. He did. He died a beautiful death. Talking and joking with us, telling us he loved us, then putting his head down on his pillow.
His death was against the law. We couldn’t procure medical assistance or even information. As he lay dying peacefully, I was hoping desperately that nothing would go wrong and cursing Florida’s archaic laws. He could wake up wanting to live – or survive with a broccoli brain.
Father died as he lived, with courage and honesty. Later I mused that just as he’d helped me learn how to live, now he’d taught me how to die. His death led me to join a legal team fighting Florida’s law. We failed.
I think often of Father’s death and others in similar situations who had no way to manage a graceful exit. So, I sure thank our City Council for unanimously urging the Legislature to allow terminally ill adults to end their lives with a physician’s help. Several states have done so. Special thanks to Councilor Gabe Vasquez for valuing what life has taught him above his Catholic upbringing. And to Representative-elect Micaela Lara Cadena, who will co-sponsor the Elizabeth Whitfield End of Life Options Act (H.B. 90) named for former judge Elizabeth Whitefield, Mark Medoff's sister.
The bill would allow terminally ill and mentally competent adults (18 or older) who have six months or less to live, to get a prescription for life-ending medication.
I watched my strong, amazing mother die in pain and confusion. So did Father. Imagine watching your loved one being carried aboard a train, kicking and screaming, uncomprehending, as against watching him/her find a seat, put hat and gloves on the overhead rack, sit down, then wave good-bye, smiling.
I understand people's fears, and I agree that we need strict safeguards against euthanasia, and greedy heirs.
Father insisted on dying as he’d lived. As a painful life ebbs, who would sentence someone to stay imprisoned inside a failed body?
We all deserve a choice. Father earned the right to choose.