My parents died in their early 70s. I miss them every day but it’s a relief to know that they avoided the suffering that can come with late old ageMy parents never made it to old age and though I miss them every day,I’m glad they went when they did. It means my final memory of them is a good one. Not for me and my siblings the aching agony of watching a long late decline or having to face complex care decisions as we watched our parents shrink before our eyes into shadows of their former selves. I didnt want that for them and I know for certain they didn’t want it for us.
When my mum had a massive stroke a week before her 74th birthday we were warned the prognosis was not good. She no longer recognised us and as we stood around her bed, I thought, or please die. Don’t linger on in pain,fed by a tube not knowing who any of us are. That may sound cruel, heartless even. But it’s the very opposite of that. I knew she wouldn’t want to be kept alive by machines. I wanted to remember her how she was; sound of intellect, or rapid/fast witted,doing crosswords every day and following her beloved Arsenal.
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Source: theguardian.com