Still joy to be found in the difficult times

Photo: files

The end of life choice Bill has been passed. Sixty-two percent of voters believe it offers ‘‘choice’’ at the end of life. They don’t see any chance of it being abused, of fatal mistakes being made. They can’t imagine a ‘‘useless’’ member of society (a society which judges the value of people based on their economic productivity for goodness sake!) feeling pressure to move aside. Can’t imagine losing a whole generation of people before their time.

All I can share is my own experience. My lovely mother was a robust and resilient woman who lived a somewhat charmed life. She emigrated from the UK in 1957 with her husband, worked as a doctor, raised five children; she was beautiful, successful, intelligent and capable. She was also a fierce and fervent promoter of ‘‘progressive’’ causes such as abortion on demand, euthanasia etc.

As 65 she lived alone in a pretty little house, with a beautiful, huge garden that absorbed her fully. She asked me to euthanise her as soon as she could no longer manage the house (with the caveat that I should not do it if it meant I would go to prison for murder). That time came soon enough and at 78 she was shipped off to a daughter in Auckland for a year or so, before landing in a rest-home near me, with dementia but fairly good physical health.

God, she was annoying at times; irritating and lovely in equal measure. Without responsibility, she was soft, kind and so, so grateful. We had some lovely times and I was able to show my own daughter how I would like to be cared for. She was contented and certainly didn’t mention euthanasia any more.

The end drew near. Her body started to pack up and I went through the miserable cycle known to many; powerless over her deterioration, upset with family members who were critical of my efforts, getting used to a ‘‘new normal’’ every few months; drudgery, weariness, grief and fear. There would be a little money after she died, but not enough to want her gone.

On many days I just wanted it to be over because I was so tired of it. Other days I appreciated wonderful moments; the funny, funny things said in her delirium, falling asleep in her arms, remarkable conversations about her impending death, amends made from both sides.

And then, in the final few months, an incredible miracle. My father, terrified, exhausted and blind arrived at the rest-home shortly after his second wife died. (You may well end up in the same rest-home as someone you raised children with, divorced or not).

With much amusement, we all soon realised my parents had forgotten they were divorced. Their old brains were so worn out and broken. But love doesn’t live in the brain, it lives in the heart and a love that started at 17 isn’t forgotten. When they realised, my gallant old father proposed again and a marriage licence was arranged.

I’ll never forget the beautiful women from the DIA who came to interview these two spent human beings on their fitness for marriage. We were all so moved that their love for each other was the last thing left of them.

The wedding didn’t go ahead, my mother died a few weeks later, but in her heart and in what was left of her mind, she was married again to the man she had loved for 70 years. She spent her last day sitting in the sunshine holding his hand and then, aged 86, she left us to go and stand on a mountaintop with the wind lifting her hair.

Her last words to me seemed inconsequential at the time, a question that indicated she no longer knew me, but three years on it makes sense.

Our father died six months later. I was his welfare guardian and I had little trouble making the decisions to withhold further medical intervention after it had gone far enough. But no, I didn’t want it hurried up. I wanted him to have every possible moment he could hold on for. He waited for his son to arrive and then he died in his sleep early the next morning.

There is no doubt that those long difficult months were some of the richest and most profound of my life so far. But I didn’t recognise it at the time and who knows what I would have done had euthanasia been legal? Would I have unconsciously or even consciously pressured them into it? Could my muddled mind or those of my parents have been tempted by the possibility of getting it all over and done with more quickly?

I don’t know and I’m just so grateful that society protected me from this temptation.

Laws that result in or promote ending human life are dangerous, lazy and stupid. The worst-case scenarios will happen and death is irreversible.

I don’t think any of the supporters of euthanasia would find it so flash if their own 18-year-old child is put to sleep after receiving a diagnosis of terminal illness. I know my mother found abortion on demand lost its shine when her own potential grandchildren ended up in the autoclave at the abortion clinic.

It’s a shame to tell my mother’s beautiful story in the context of opposing a law, but if it convinces even one person to create a binding declaration to opt out of euthanasia, a declaration that cannot be overridden under any circumstances, then my job is done.

This is my declaration.

• Sarah McGill lives in Queenstown.