By Karen Galatz
The Matzo Chronicles
RENO, Nevada — Indisputably, people are living longer lives, but longevity without health is not necessarily a blessing.
I just lost two close friends. Now, in addition to mourning the passing of their steady and cheery companionship, I am confronted with unexpected questions about the decidedly different ways their lives ended.
One died a “natural” death after a long, debilitating neuromuscular disease, marked by ever-increasing physical and mental incapacity, a loss of independence and dignity, and a rise in emotional distress — all shocking to witness in a man once imbued with grace, wit and power.
The other — a funny, sweet, man, once bouncy and larger-than-life — suffered in horrific pain from cancer, unable to eat or drink. He had successfully recovered from one exhausting series of chemotherapy treatments, only to have the disease return, super-charged and unstoppable.
With no hope of cure or relief, this friend decided to exercise control of at least one last measure of his life: its end. Surrounded by his children, he opted for a medically assisted death. I am writing this the day after his death, as I mourn.
Medically assisted death is controversial among many segments of society, including religious communities. In Judaism, the debate begins with the belief that every person, having been created in the image of God, is sacred and that there is value in every moment of every life.
For Orthodox Jews, that view renders the idea of assisted death as unacceptable. But over recent decades, the perspective of Conservative and Reform Jews has slowly evolved and in some cases, become more permissive.
Philosophically — from the vantage point of youth — I always thought it was a person’s right to choose dignity over pain and suffering when the end was inevitable and near. But now that I’m older, these decisions are starting to hit closer to home, and it all feels much more complicated.
Thinking about my friend who literally just opted out, I feel sad and also a bit conflicted.
First of all, let me be clear, I don’t judge him. I’m profoundly grateful that he is no longer in pain. I’m also grateful that his children won’t have to continue to witness his torment. I’ve been there with my mother, and I remember that particular sadness and feeling of utter helplessness all too well.
Yet, this notion of willfully ending our one dance on Planet Earth is such an immense — and — when you think about it — brave step. With no pun intended, I can say that it takes my breath away.
Again, I don’t judge. I haven’t faced the abyss of agonizing, relentless pain that my friend was staring down. I haven’t known the terror of terminal cancer’s ticking clock. All I know is that I am grateful that people in a handful of states have a right to make a choice and that, in my friend’s case, he had a supportive family with him.
Life is hard. Dying is too. From what I’ve seen so far, too few of us go easily, and in the end, isn’t that what we all wish for?
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Read more of Karen Galatz’s work at https://muddling.me or contact her at karen@muddling.me.