Yesterday afternoon I was rushing to my car because I was in a hurry for a meeting. I was so wrapped up in the crazy number of things I had to do that I very nearly stepped on a butterfly that was laying on the hot pavement. Despite being late, I ran back to get some sugar water in an effort to revive him. There was no shade, but I moved him to a place that was out of the way and dribbled the water in front of him. He moved a bit, but didn't appear to be drinking.
I had done what I could then headed out to my meeting...
When I got back, I saw that the poor thing was back on the street and had been crushed... assumably run over by a car. I'm pretty sure he was a goner anyway, but it was still pretty upsetting.
Remarkably, his wings were still intact and, if you didn't look too close to see that his body had been destroyed, he was still beautiful.
I went on with my life. Maybe appreciating it just a tiny bit more.
But all I could think about was this... If I would have had the ability to put the poor thing out of his misery in a way that was quick and painless (assuming that butterflies can feel pain), would I have been able to do that? Not by stepping on him, which I could not do, I mean finding a killing jar or something. Despite the fact that my beliefs do not endorse taking a life... any life, including a bug... I think that I would. — If one of my cats were suffering, I'd certainly find a way to end their pain. Absolutely. It would kill me to do it, but I would force myself to extend that kindness.
And then my mind took this leap: Would I be able to do that for a fellow human?
And that's a different thing entirely, isn't it?
First of all, it doesn't matter if you're extending them a kindness... it's still murder. You still go to jail over that. But if it's somebody you truly care about. Somebody you love. And you know that they're suffering terribly, and you can end their suffering? Well... what is jail time compared to that?
I thought about this a lot when it came to my mom, but I was grateful to have found perspective at the time that she wasn't suffering. At least not how somebody from the outside would think of it. Her mind was gone. She didn't know and didn't remember. But I sure did. Which is to say that I wouldn't be ending her suffering, I'd be ending mine.
In which case the only life that I was entitled to take would be my own.
Alas, I am totally lacking in compassion for myself, and wouldn't extend myself that kindness.
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At the end of my dad’s life, my mom couldn’t bear to make that call. She was exhausted beyond measure, and our hospice nurse knew this. My mom was also a nurse, but you need someone else to give you that separation. Giving him the final dose of morphine while my mom finally got some rest felt like a small mercy to both of them. I’m still glad these are such thoughtful decisions, though. They’re the last decisions we’ll ever make.
My mom broke a bone when she fell during the height of her dementia. After I rushed over the mountains to see her before surgery, I asked to speak to the surgeon. Remarkably, the surgeon came. I told him that I needed to be sure he knew that she has a DNR on file… then went on to tell him that she was a Navy veteran, she had traveled the world, and she would be mortified to see how her life was playing out. I wanted to be very clear that her wishes and my wishes were that if there’s trouble in that operating room, you need to let her go and not turn her into some kind of survival experiment. If it’s her time, then it’s her time. — And of course I spent the next hours recounting the conversation in my head and wondered “Holy crap… did I just tell him to end my mom’s life?!?” Because that’s wasn’t at all what I had meant. I was trying to say “Don’t keep her alive if it’s time for her to go just because the hospital wants the money,” but without actually saying that. — My mom ended up surviving the surgery. And, bizarrely, recognized me when she woke up. Something she hadn’t been able to do in months. It didn’t last, but I like to think that she willed her way through surviving the surgery just so she could tell me that she knew me one last time. After that she started slipping away and passed at the time she needed to go. Which is the say that I also think she willed her way through surviving surgery so I wouldn’t feel guilty that I had somehow convinced the doctor to end her life. I don’t know if I could have gotten past it otherwise. I also couldn’t have gotten through it without her hospice nurse, who did everything in her power to keep mom at peace and restful thanks to generous use of morphine. A small mercy indeed.