Euthanasia

Pain is a strange thing. To those who do not bear it, it is an idea—something to be mitigated, endured, fought against. To the one who suffers from it, however, it is a consuming force, an unrelenting tide that erases all else.

Having said that, no one could have guessed the pain this couple hid behind their silent eyes when I first met them. (I’ve changed some details to guard their privacy.) It happened last year at the ashram. I was tired beyond bear that day and had just finished my meetings. But I was asked to make an exception for an elderly couple, whom I was told I should see. Grief had sort of piled a few years on their faces; otherwise, they were not even elderly but latish middle-aged.

“We lost our only son last year,” they said to me. They were distraught, and my perfunctory smile too rolled back into my lips the moment I heard those words.

“Actually,” they continued, “he had attempted to take his own life a few years back when he was only 18 summers old by jumping from the 3rd floor, but he fell on the little lawn just outside the building. He didn’t die, but he broke many bones and had severe spinal injuries and spent his years in great pain.

“‘This is the Universe telling me to live, Mom, Dad,’ he had said to us after surviving the attempt, ‘and I’m going to get my life back on track.’”

“And Swami,” the mother continued, “with rigorous physiotherapy and gigantic willpower, he could move about a bit. He was now in physical pain most of the time, but he really kept his promise and not only went on to graduate from an Ivy League institution but also secured a good job. Rather than working in the USA, however, he moved to another country, still earning extremely well.

“Last year we went to visit him for three months and had the most wonderful time ever. Things were looking up once again in our lives. We even broached the topic of his marriage, but he told us he wasn’t interested. He went for a couple of appointments with a doctor and refused to have us accompany him. ‘It’s just a routine checkup,’ he had said.

“We came back to India, thanking our lucky stars because it seemed our son was smiling once again and had a great future ahead. He still had physical pain, but it was completely manageable. At least, it seemed that way to us.”

I was listening intently to them. A few hundred people were waiting for me outside as it was well past my meeting time. But I knew their pain deserved more time and attention. Their grief, trauma, and void were so palpable as if they accompanied them and were seated with them in the room. As though you could reach out and grab that sorrow by its arm.

“And a mere two days after we landed in India,” the mother said, choking, “he called us again and asked us to board the next flight back to him.” All this while, the man had been sitting in the room completely quietly. At any rate, I didn’t need his words to see his pain. The weight of sorrow hung thick on his somewhat slouched shoulders and resigned posture.

“‘Mom, Dad,’ he said to us, ‘I didn’t have the heart to not tell you. I have qualified for MAID, Medical Assistance in Dying, and I will be injected next week.’ We saw our entire world crumble in front of us, and I thought I would faint,” the mother said. “We pleaded with him to not go through with it. He was our only son, and he had every reason to live.

“‘Please,’ our son said to us, ‘think about me too. I find it unbearable to live. I’ve been trying for years now. It’s not just the physical pain, but the mental bludgeoning of living from one moment to the next. My own mind assaults me at every opportunity. I seek peace. I seek exit. I want out. I can’t take it anymore. This body, this mind—it’s not a home anymore. It’s a battlefield, and I’ve lost. Can’t you let me go for my peace?’”

The mother wiped a tear. How does a parent answer that?

The father now spoke and told me that he held his young son’s hands in his last moments, and he went away peacefully. Both of them just wanted to know if their son was alright wherever he would be now, if his soul had found a passage, if they had failed in their duty as parents, and if I approved of their son’s and their actions.

Euthanasia is a difficult topic, tangled in ethics, emotions, and faith. But at its core is one simple question: should we deny someone the right to end unbearable suffering? Is it compassionate to force life upon someone when it has become an unrelenting torment?

There are no right or wrong answers, and there are a million things I have absolutely no opinion on. MAID, or euthanasia, is not one of them, though. In my personal opinion, every individual must be accorded the right to lead a life of dignity. If all that is available has been tried and there seems to be no end to their suffering, they should be allowed to make the choice of living or dying. And this opinion, this belief, stems from how I would like my own life to be.

Yes, your loved ones, well-wishers, and many co-travelers on the journey of life are there with you. It can be very comforting, but if you have a splitting headache, their words will only bring you so much comfort. Ultimately, you discover that you are the sole bearer of the pain. They may empathize with you, even experience your suffering, but that’s the thing you see, sharing your suffering does not reduce the pain. In such circumstances, we must be compassionate towards their choice even when it absolutely crushes our hearts.

We don’t get to choose where we are born, we don’t choose our parents or siblings, we don’t choose what kind of food we are fed as babies, and we don’t choose whose influence shapes us early on in our lives. The government or the world doesn’t give you anything on a platter. Throughout our lives we work hard, we strive, we toil, and we seek constant approval. At least, when it comes to dying, one should be extended the minimum courtesy of a free choice.

Granted that life is sacred, but it is so only when it holds meaning. When it is lived, not just suffered. To those who have never felt the kind of suffering this young man endured, it is easy to say, “Fight on.” But to those who live it, the days stretch into an endless tunnel of despair. To such souls, release is not defeat; it is grace.

And that’s how I see euthanasia: a graceful moral to a tumultuous story.

Peace.
Swami