June 10, 2011

I’m not in pain, and I’m able to be up-and-about most of the time. I live in somewhat pleasant circumstances, but I’m old (82) and simply tired of all the routines of living that are increasingly difficult to handle. All of my orifices leak. I drool, my eyes water, my nose runs and the lower two places don’t always cooperate either.

For the most part I’ve had a good life. I made my contributions as a teacher and school administrator, but I’m way past my prime and as far as I can determine, I serve no good purpose. I’m a comfortable agnostic and am willing to take my chances on whatever comes next; if it’s another life, okay; but if not, that’s okay too. Believe me, if there were some sure way of ending my life without creating a mess for someone to clean up, or of merely damaging myself and having even less control of myself, I’d go for it in a second.

This is why assisted suicide is so important. Why do I have to wait until I’m even less in control or in pain? And who’s to say that an intelligent person shouldn’t be able to know when it’s time for him to say farewell?


— A Sullivan reader, on the morality of Assisted Suicide.

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