Last Rites

 

My brother Eric and I each visit my 92-year-old mother in her nursing home once a week, and sometimes more. Eric is very attentive to her practical needs, but both of us are finding that our principle role these days is to be a attentive presence when we visit. As she approaches her 93rd birthday Mom becomes more ghost-like, struggling to form a sentence or follow conversation. Even the videos of great-grandchildren no longer seem to bring her the pleasure they did only weeks ago. She is failing physically as well, and while the medical staff are excellent, they can't turn back the clock. Last week we arranged to visit Mom together and we took her outside, as we often do. At the conclusion we prayed, which she always likes, and told her we loved her as we were leaving. Her "I love you too" was the only full sentence she managed.

It did not occur to me to kill Mom during our time together. This may be a startling statement, but I know she did not want to end life this way. She was always a person of energy and dignity and this is not what she would have chosen. Perhaps two years ago I talked to her about MAID -- Medical Assistance in Dying -- because of a guest who came to the congregation I was serving to speak about the subject. Somewhat to my surprise she said she thought this was a good option for people, herself included. She was already dealing with dementia, so the conversation went no further, but she was clear in that moment.

I thought of my mother as I read Sarah Lyall's honesty and touching article in the New York Times about her mother's request that she help her die.

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. 

In New York state assisted death is not legal, so Lyall knew that her mother's request was challenging on many levels: " I am not a trained assassin. I am not a doctor. I am not very brave. I’m just a person who wants to do the most important thing that her mother has ever asked of her."

Every day, in places around the world, the personal dramas of the end of life are played out. They are at the same time similar and yet unique. I imagine most of us wonder what to do for those we love, often feeling inadequate or even whether we should assist in hastening the end. 

I do know that my mother's life is still precious as she drifts away. I don't want her to be in distress or to feel alone, and I don't think she does. In recent weeks several of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren have been to visit her, as have her daughters-in-law. We're doing the best we can, as so many others attempt to do, and for now we continue to pray, give her a kiss and say "I love you."