No, this post i not about abortion although I think some of the arguments might be similar.
Recently the state of California legalized physician assisted suicide. Obviously the issue raises difficult moral and ethical questions. I won't address them here except to say that difficult moral and ethical questions first and foremost need to be addressed by the person immediately facing them. Of course there are social and community concerns that cannot be ignored but the struggle belongs to the individual facing the situation.
I have struggled with this question and my basic orientation always leans towards life. My gut says that even in the most painful and difficult of times, there is something wondrous and wonderful about life and that should never be discounted. At the same time I saw images on 9/11 that made me think differently.
We also saw peole jump from the towers to their deaths, knowing that they were committing suicide. At the same time, death was imminent as the flames came towards them. The choice was clearly between dying a painful death of burning or a quick one from the impact of a fall from the towers. I don't know what I would have done if faced with that choice but I do know how I feel about burning and it is not a way that I would choose to die. So, I asked myself, was the decision to jump an immoral one? Did I have the right to condemn those who would choose one way to die over another, knowing that death was clearly coming?
And so, I come to physician assisted suicide with a new perspective. For those for whom death is clearly coming - a death that may be slow and painful and erase all that they are - who am I to say that a choice of a quick and painless suicide might not be a reasonable decision for them to make?
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Friday, October 16, 2015
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Oh Wow!
My wife is a chaplain/spiritual counselor for Visiting Nurse and Hospice Care of Santa Barbara in the hospice division. VNHCSBdoes amazing work and has scores of wonderful people on staff who support and care during one of the most intimate and difficult times of their lives. This past Sunday was the annual service of remembrance when family members and some of the staff gather to remember those who have passed in the previous year. Each year it is a moving time as photos are projected and names read...
The speaker this year got me thinking. He shared a quote which he attributed to Rumi. Since then, I've googled it and found it also referenced as a Tibetan Buddhist saying. It could be either or neither, but it still inspired this blog post. "When you are born, you cry, and the world rejoices. When you die, you rejoice, and the world cries." It made me think of what are reported as the final words of Steve Jobs, "Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow!"
Frankly, I don't think about an afterlife very often. I don't think the issue is all that important. I'm not entirely sure what I even believe about one (although I am pretty sure what I don't believe.). What I do believe is that the grace and love of God is all powerful and undeniable. Whatever it looks like after we die, it is shaped by the grace and love of God... a grace, a love so far beyond our understanding that all one could possibly do when confronting it without a veil between us and it is rejoice and exclaim, "oh wow!"
The speaker this year got me thinking. He shared a quote which he attributed to Rumi. Since then, I've googled it and found it also referenced as a Tibetan Buddhist saying. It could be either or neither, but it still inspired this blog post. "When you are born, you cry, and the world rejoices. When you die, you rejoice, and the world cries." It made me think of what are reported as the final words of Steve Jobs, "Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow!"
Frankly, I don't think about an afterlife very often. I don't think the issue is all that important. I'm not entirely sure what I even believe about one (although I am pretty sure what I don't believe.). What I do believe is that the grace and love of God is all powerful and undeniable. Whatever it looks like after we die, it is shaped by the grace and love of God... a grace, a love so far beyond our understanding that all one could possibly do when confronting it without a veil between us and it is rejoice and exclaim, "oh wow!"
Thursday, August 02, 2007
the fragility of life
The last week and half has been a difficult one. The fragility of life has been thrust into our faces yet again.
Misty Yurko, my niece, was 30 years old. She struggled with Crohn's disease for about five years and had had her ups and downs with that until last November she came down with pneumonia. She went into the hospital and never came home again. For eight months she had one issue after another - times when it looked as if she would get better... times when organs would stop working, seemingly at random. Two weeks ago she seemed to be on an upswing and there was hope that she might actually recover. We had seen her in June, and while she was weak, we did have some time to laugh and smile. I hoped that the next time I saw her she would be back to herself.
Misty was doing physical therapy and things were looking good. Then, in a day she went back from the physical therapy department to a regular hospital room. The next day she was in ICU, non-responsive, and on life support. A few days later she was gone.
We always lived a distance from her so we didn't know her as well as I would have liked. She was about 6 years older than Alexis and the times we saw her during childhood, she loved playing the "big sister" to Alexis. I'm left with wondering how things might have been different... how I might have spent my time better with her. My sister is trying to figure out how to face a world without her daughter in it.
Five days ago we received word that a cousin of one of our church members was killed in Iraq. I never met Jimmy but I have heard a little about him and can guess some more. He graduated from high school in 2005 without direction and the family says he joined the military as a way of growing up. I expect that he had to know that he would end up in Iraq so there may have been some patriotism involved, some hope for adventure, even the yearning for the testosterone thrill of the battle... all of the fantasies of an 18 year old who has never seen the horrors of war. I don't have any idea what he experienced while there. Perhaps he felt he was doing something of value, perhaps not... in either case, he is gone. His family is in tatters. All of the dreams for the future are gone.
I want to be furious about his death. Jimmy is the closest that I have come to this needless war. I want to be able to hold him up as the picture of the waste this administration has caused - the waste of resources, but more importantly the waste of lives. I cannot. All I can do is feel grief, and sadness, and loss. I never knew Jimmy but he sounds like he was a great kid. I never will know him now.
In a blink, it is gone. Life is fragile. It ends with a sniper's bullet, a disease that cannot be stopped, a bridge collapsing during an afternoon commute, the long wear of years... sometimes it is long and full, sometimes far too short. Sometimes it is filled with joy, sometimes with pain, most often a mixture of the two, but it is always fragile. And it is always precious. I hope that I remember this a few months from now when the press of work and the day to day is all around. I hope that I take the time to talk with the kids in my church and neighborhood, to hug my family, to smell the flowers and watch the birds... Life is fragile... too fragile to waste on the unimportant.
Misty Yurko, my niece, was 30 years old. She struggled with Crohn's disease for about five years and had had her ups and downs with that until last November she came down with pneumonia. She went into the hospital and never came home again. For eight months she had one issue after another - times when it looked as if she would get better... times when organs would stop working, seemingly at random. Two weeks ago she seemed to be on an upswing and there was hope that she might actually recover. We had seen her in June, and while she was weak, we did have some time to laugh and smile. I hoped that the next time I saw her she would be back to herself.
Misty was doing physical therapy and things were looking good. Then, in a day she went back from the physical therapy department to a regular hospital room. The next day she was in ICU, non-responsive, and on life support. A few days later she was gone.
We always lived a distance from her so we didn't know her as well as I would have liked. She was about 6 years older than Alexis and the times we saw her during childhood, she loved playing the "big sister" to Alexis. I'm left with wondering how things might have been different... how I might have spent my time better with her. My sister is trying to figure out how to face a world without her daughter in it.
Five days ago we received word that a cousin of one of our church members was killed in Iraq. I never met Jimmy but I have heard a little about him and can guess some more. He graduated from high school in 2005 without direction and the family says he joined the military as a way of growing up. I expect that he had to know that he would end up in Iraq so there may have been some patriotism involved, some hope for adventure, even the yearning for the testosterone thrill of the battle... all of the fantasies of an 18 year old who has never seen the horrors of war. I don't have any idea what he experienced while there. Perhaps he felt he was doing something of value, perhaps not... in either case, he is gone. His family is in tatters. All of the dreams for the future are gone.
I want to be furious about his death. Jimmy is the closest that I have come to this needless war. I want to be able to hold him up as the picture of the waste this administration has caused - the waste of resources, but more importantly the waste of lives. I cannot. All I can do is feel grief, and sadness, and loss. I never knew Jimmy but he sounds like he was a great kid. I never will know him now.
In a blink, it is gone. Life is fragile. It ends with a sniper's bullet, a disease that cannot be stopped, a bridge collapsing during an afternoon commute, the long wear of years... sometimes it is long and full, sometimes far too short. Sometimes it is filled with joy, sometimes with pain, most often a mixture of the two, but it is always fragile. And it is always precious. I hope that I remember this a few months from now when the press of work and the day to day is all around. I hope that I take the time to talk with the kids in my church and neighborhood, to hug my family, to smell the flowers and watch the birds... Life is fragile... too fragile to waste on the unimportant.
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