My what a morbid turn this thread has taken. Indulge me to unburden myself on it.
Tell me anything that is guaranteed in life!
We can guarantee that you're gonna die. We just can't guarantee when or by what method cause.
A few years ago the
Nimitz's suicides sent a big shock wave through the submarine force. (A few cynics "joked" that he was motivated by the thought of having to file more TRICARE claims.) We submariners have somewhat of a reputation for being control freaks and I'm sure that most of us are carrying this article in our "Medical Directives" files.
Chester Jr's approach may work if you have a healthy brain trapped in a failing body, but what about dementia or Alzheimer's? If you tell your spouse today to "Just shoot me when I get to that point", by the time you reach that point you're certainly no longer you. You may still be living but the you you used to be isn't you any more (if you'll tolerate my tortured syntax). The you you'll be will surely strenuously object if the you you used to be attempts to direct any "posthumous suicide" attempts. And good grief, what if your religion involves an afterlife or punishment for suicide?!?
You marriage veterans can imagine how long it took my wife and I to get through that last paragraph of conversation, and the Pope's lifelong example was no help at all. She seems determined to maintain a stash of sleeping pills (with long-term expiration dates) "just in case". I certainly owe her enough to help her open the pill bottle, but I'm not sure that I'm able to fulfill the dubious distinction of administering the coup de grace. While I can't argue with her (especially not when she's armed with all those narcotics AND cooking our meals), I can't forget my grandfather's example.
The grandfather he used to be was gone in deep dementia by age 84, but he lived a hale & hearty 14 additional years in a CCF. I think they were the happiest years of his adult life. Every morning he rediscovered the complete works of Shakespeare by his bedside, although he couldn't focus long enough to get through more than the first 15 pages. Every visit he was thrilled to see us, and its novelty recurred about every 20 minutes. He couldn't remember the conversation from five minutes ago, but early 20th-century American culture was perpetually looping through his brain as an amazing oral history. He wasn't the gruff, laconic businessman of my youth or the grumpy old man of my young adulthood-- he was a cheerful, talkative guy with amazing stories of growing up on a farm, having dinner with the original Mr. Kroger, and helping to build Ohio's electrical infrastructure. Our kid still asks me to tell her the stories so that she has them right.
If I encore that performance 40 or 50 years from now, I hope that my grandkids will enjoy it as much as I did. And I still haven't decided whether or not they should frisk my wife before she visits...