Youth In Asia (Killing Me Softly)

I have recently been investigating ways to kill myself painlessly. Just in case. Some of you may be a tad worried about that (no reason to, I assure you); some of you won’t read any further than this paragraph.

For those of you still here, this really is not about being depressed and unable to see the bright side of life. I have, so far, been unable to NOT see the bright side. But I am concerned about euthanasia, and have been off and on for at least the past 20 years. At least since Dr. Jack Kevorkian began making headlines.

During my quest for information I contacted a pharmacist friend of mine and asked what the best thing to use was. He wondered only if I was having a bad day. I’d say that was a pretty bad day, but I was saddened only that he didn’t realize where I was coming from. And he never would say. That may have been part of a pharmacist’s oath or something but the guy I used to know would have gotten where I was coming from. Instead he was suspicious, I think.

Putting religious beliefs aside, if you can, I want to examine euthanasia with the view of it being a practical matter, and possibly being a great relief to ourselves and our family and friends. I know that we are not dogs and cats, but I think we can look at pet euthanasia and apply its principles to people. Why wait until someone’s body and/or mind is ravaged by disease, their finances drained so there is more burden brought upon those left behind? Bad enough they have to watch their loved one suffer for far too long as it is.

Part of the outcry against human euthanasia is that people will be killing off family members and themselves willy-nilly at the first sign of a sniffle so as to benefit from expected inheritances.

I believe fervently that people, as a general rule, aren’t going to do this very often or easily. (I think that about abortion as well but haven’t looked at the numbers.) Pet owners sometimes still wait far too long to euthanize their pets, believing against all hope that they aren’t really suffering or there’s a chance they’ll get better. I believe having the option—without the legal trouble—to off yourself or help someone close to you to do so will not be misused any more than other things are misused. There is always going to be stupidity, and that cannot be legislated, even though we all know it’s been tried repeatedly and those attempts likely will continue as long there are politicians and attorneys.

I'm adamant I'd like the option if I became unable to care for myself in any way. I don't want my daughters, granddaughters, friends and family to have to see me that way for an extended period of time because my body was still willing to produce enough oxygen to carry on. That's no way to live, for me or them.

If it became a legal option to end your life, we could then procure the knowledge and the means to do it compassionately and with as little pain to the dying as possible. We are already half way there, with hospice. I don't know anyone who isn't grateful for the compassionate care received there. Let’s go one step further and have the legal option before we become dessicated if we so choose.

Death lives!

I’ve been watching a short-lived gem-of-an-HBO series using Netflix: “Dead Like Me.” It’s a quirky, entertaining little show, well written, tackling the ever-interesting subject of the after-life.

Ellen Muth stars as George, an 18-year-old, life-avoiding girl who is working the first day of her first job after high school graduation as a file clerk at a temp agency when she goes out during her lunch hour and is killed by a space shuttle toilet seat plummeting to Earth. As you can imagine, she is pretty much blown to smithereens and her mom, dad and 11-year-old sister have to pick up the pieces of their lives and try to go on. But the story isn't about them.

Immediately after death, George finds that she’s a grim reaper, part of a small group of reapers headed up by Rube, played by Mandy Patinkin. She’s known as Toilet Seat Girl, thereby confirming my own suspicion that at least the writers of this show think like me: Life is no different after high school or death. Most people don’t seem to change. (Did I say high school equals death?)

The reapers must take the souls from bodies of people about to die and they do it after getting a name, time and place on a Post-It note from Rube, every morning at a pancake house where they meet.

I'm just saying, hilarious.

They make their way to the place, find a way to discover the person there who is scheduled to die and run their hand along an arm or shoulder, drawing the soul from the body. A moment later, whatever is scheduled to happen to that person takes place and they lead the just-dead person away from the scene and toward his or her “light.” Each reap has a twist of its own.

One kicker: George is a reaper in her hometown, something that is unusual even by reaper standards, and she gets to check in on her family every now and then. She is seen by the living, has to live and work among them, earning money for her expenses as if she was alive.

But reapers don’t look like themselves to the living. George takes advantage of this to visit her family, pretending to be somebody else and see how they are dealing with her death. This is not encouraged by Rube as it can wreak havoc with your focus. There is one day a year—Halloween, natch—when they are seen as they looked when alive.

The stories are great and ironic and interesting. The series ended all too soon, as the good ones all do.