"And peace at the last"

It was great that Dad got to cuddle his first great-great-grandchild a few days before he died. But I suppose the impression on his confused brain probably didn’t last. He had been increasingly falling into a world of his own reality and was less and less able to sustain a rational conversation. He couldn’t put his hearing aids in and that only made everything worse for him and those who tried to relate to him in the last couple of weeks.

Clearly, in his 102nd year, he was about ready to slip away three weeks ago. Whether we thought he would go “to be with his beloved Nell” or would simply release his atoms to a different form in creation didn’t make much difference: none of us wanted to prolong the distress and pain that daily living seemed to cause him.

If my sister’s much-loved little dog Toby in Canberra were suffering to that extent, she would have sought the vet’s hand in a mercy death. That kind of option was not available to us. Dad was not just an old dog and human life is valued highly in our society. As a general principle, that’s as it should be.

But the prolonged breakdown of ordinary bodily functions and his confusion, misery and pain got to the point where they merited some kind of intervention. With our blessing, his last few days were eased with regular doses of morphine. But of course the same drug also tended to depress the physiological drives that were stopping his tough old body from quietly giving up. So at last he was “managed” into a merciful unconsciousness and then quietly died.

Dad had been fiercely independent for over 100 years. But as he began to be unable to do everything for himself we became deeply grateful for the care and love given to him in the last failing months. We were doubly grateful that medical science and ethics helped him have a dignified and peaceful death at the last.