In the Midst of Life (45 page)
Read In the Midst of Life Online
Authors: Jennifer Worth
The letter speaks of other things, then goes on:
My last remaining energy is now searching for the way for eternal release. In my opinion it is inhuman to extend lives in hospital that are not serviceable any more. I hope you understand me, in spite of religious doubts. Did I tell you about my black-out in my bathroom at the beginning of December, when I lay almost six hours helpless on the cold marble floor? The next day Eugen found me and drove me to
hospital. They started to X-ray me all over and, surprisingly, nothing was broken, in spite of my osteoporosis, but they discovered metastases in my body (I had had two cancer operations in earlier years). I told them that I would not agree to any more operations, and therefore do not care for more details. The chief doctor touched me on both shoulders, and then said kindly, ‘According to your wish you are herewith released from hospital.’
A friend in Baden-Baden now explained to me the way to get into contact with the Swiss organisation, where she is already admitted in her wish to die. It seems very complicated, but makeable.
A funny point: she has postponed two times her final ‘ceremony’ which she payed for beforehand and now moves into a first-class clinic in Baden-Baden. Who knows if Helga will not end up with a similar solution? I don’t think so, but I find the story quite amusing.
I wrote to her, but do not have a copy of my letter. A reply came on 18th June:
My dear Jennifer
I can hardly believe that your letter dates from May 11th, but time seems to pass more and more quickly to a very tired old woman. Probably because she needs so much time for each daily task or good intentions (telephoning old friends etc.) So I spent several hours on the outline of this letter, my English having diminished like my mind!
Many many thanks for your letter, so beautifully handwritten. It has touched me because of your understanding reaction upon my intentions, And of course I was especially impressed by your announcement that you are preparing a new book with respect to peaceful and human release. In fact there are too many artificial prolongations, which I observed not only during my own stays in hospitals but also during long lasting cares of old friends. Not to forget my fiance, who
suffered a lot due to the consequences of his war-injuries (belly shoots). We had just installed our small appartment in Baden-Baden, when he started to spend most of the time in hospitals. During the last weeks of his life I remained every night with him in a Karlsruhe-hospital, taking an early train to my office in Baden-Baden. During these nights I observed how much he suffered. One morning I decided not to drive to my office but wait for the doctor in chief. I prayed to release him and glanced into understanding eyes
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he became [gave] an injection I suppose of morphium. I stayed next to him all day long. At about noon-time my dear Hans took my hands reposed on his pillow and kissed them. ‘Es ist alles so schon mit dir’ (everything is so good with you) were his last words. Then he fell asleep, still breathing for several hours, before his final release.
Where are such physicians nowadays? In earlier times, where many people died at home, the ‘house-doctor’ released his patients from more suffering in due time.
Right you are, dear Jennifer, at the moment my ‘Suisse-endeavour’ seems unachievable. This organisation is confronted with different sorts of troubles parts of the due to plotting actions. So I have to look out for another way of release, at least what my house-wife obligations are concerned, also to release Eugen, who is still sacrificing so much time and money for me. He is 18 years jounger than me and must prepare his new life with his new girl-friend, 20 years jounger than I am. This is the better solution for his future. I have the impression that they will become an ideal couple, as soon as she achieves her pension-time in summer of next year. So I have started to visit old-people’s homes in Baden-B., but the achievable ones are still too expensive for me, and once again Eugen offered his financial help. But then I wood soon end up in hospitals again, because of the condition of my body. Recently they have discovered new metastasis, but after two cancer-operations I certainly would not agree to support a third one in my age of 82. Eugen repeats toujour
that I should stay in his appartment, and that he would always take care of me as much as possible in his new situatian of life. But I realise more and more that my mind is in permanent reduction as far as the sense of registration is concerned, I am still quite good in reaction and even in organising the necessities of household etc. But I am more and more troubled by my permanent trouble: Whom did I meet or talk to on the telephone to-day or yesterday what did we talk about, what did I see on the TV last night? I never swith arround, as many of my friends do. I choose beforehand out of the programm and then listen to these broadcasts with interest. But nevertheless!
The biggest trouble became my frightful emotions when I am allone. I remember now that it was the same with my father when he had about my age. My much jounger stepmother took attentively care of him, in spite of a younger friend and lover. When she married our father she was not so thoughtful and patient. She did not support any longer the step-daughters, only 6 and 8 years younger than herself. My sister and I left the house and so began the adventure of our life and professional possibilities.
Sorry for the length of my biography. To my excuse: The title of your book inspired me, and also your remark ‘Life is sweet – and death always fearful’. I cannot agree to this formulation. On my opinion life in age becomes more and more fearful and painful, and death is – at least for me – a hopeful aspect. One could endlessly discuss about different opinions, but you, my dear old friend, have the courage to resume them in book-form. Congratulations to your human engagement!
Finally many many thanks for the new CD’s of your last book-success. I have not yet found the calme hours to listen to them, because of many tiresome household happenings and visits from good old friends. The next ones – comming from Bruxelles – will arrive at the end of the month, staying for one week. I have found a rather cheep lodging place for
them, which is not so unreliable as yours turned out to be. But as soon as I will find the time for quiet listening, I’ll send you my ‘echo’ by telephone or by letter. I admire your numerous physical and spiritual engagements, dear Jennifer. As to myself, the burn-out condition dominates, nevertheless I have succeeded in writing this much too long letter!
Much love to both of you
Helga
P.S. The main trouble is probably that I have no self-confidence anymore.
During the summer months we had telephone conversations. On 14th December, 2009, she wrote the following letter:
My dear old friends
I take leave of you with just a few words: I finally succeeded in becoming [getting] the ‘green light’ from Switzerland. It was probably the last moment, as they only accept people still being decisive, which means self-responsible, and my mind has been drifting away rapidly during the last months. I can still react and organise, but the sense of registration has collapsed. In addition I became more and more frightful – just as my father did in my age – so I cannot plan any own ways on the street any more.
I am so glad that Eugen has meanwhile found a friend, younger than he is (he approaches to the seventies) with whom a positive future seems possible. She has a house in the same village where he neglected his very attractive apartment since 2004 because of all my accidents etc. I found several younger friends interested in my house-wares and book collections (of course I did not want to irritate them by my true intentions, so I pretended to move to old Swiss friends of mine) hoping that my wonderful friend Eugen will not be overcharged with the evacuation of my apartment.
‘Take my warm-heartiest wishes, my dear, unforgettable
friends Jennifer and Philip, for a long continuance of your wonderful partnership, and all your spiritual impulses!
Helga
I received the letter on 17th December and at once rang her telephone number. It was unobtainable, and has remained so ever since.
It is impossible to exaggerate the state of shock I was in after receipt of this letter. Uncertainty about what had happened tormented me and in any mental or emotional crisis I need spiritual help and guidance, so I rang the Reverend Mother of the convent with which I am connected, and told her the terrible story. The vocation of the Sisters is prayer and meditation, and, without such con-templatives I believe the affairs of man would long ago have sunk into chaos. The Reverend Mother told me that the Sisters would pray for Helga and the medical dilemmas that we have to face. Nuns are not just about prayer; they are usually very practical. She said, ‘You must find out what happened to Helga in her last days and hours. Can’t you get hold of the address, or better still the telephone number, of this place in Switzerland and find out?’
Thankful that Helga would be safe in their prayers, I immediately obtained the telephone number of Dignitas in Zürich. Fortunately, there were no electronic voices to contend with. A man who spoke very good English answered. I gave him the name Helga Wieter, and mentioned her intentions and her last letter. I said, ‘That letter was written on the 14th; today is the 17th. Is she expected to come to you? Is she with you? Please tell me. Is she alive or dead?’
The man would tell me nothing. He said, ‘It is confidential; I cannot tell you; it is against the law.’ He repeated this phrase, ‘against the law’, several times. I persisted, saying, ‘She would have come alone; I know she would. Her friends must know what has happened to her.’ He said, ‘I cannot tell you. We have people ringing us to enquire about a husband or wife, but we cannot tell them anything; it is against the law. We even have the police contact us in their enquiries trying to find a missing person, but we cannot
disclose information. It would be illegal to do so.’
Still I persisted, saying, ‘Why illegal? That makes no sense. Illegal to whom?’
He told me, ‘We are an association of forty thousand members worldwide. Our members expect and receive confidentiality from us. Any association with a private membership is the same. I cannot help you; it would be illegal.’
I could get nowhere with him. I was left in a burning rage
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so it is perfectly legal to give someone a dose of barbiturate knowing that it will kill them, but not lawful to reveal who it has been given to? What sort of law operates in Switzerland? Registration of births and deaths is surely a statutory obligation in any civilised country, and these are public records. At the very least, a funeral cannot be conducted in secrecy, and no one informed.
I have long had severe reservations about Dignitas though I could never clearly say why; its philosophy seems so logical and, in a way, humane. And yet my experience regarding Helga’s death leaves me very uneasy.
All over Christmas I grieved for Helga, and wondered what had happened. Not knowing is probably the hardest thing to cope with. The winter was extreme
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a sheet of ice gripped the whole of Northern Europe
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and I thought of a frail old lady leaving her home and travelling by train, alone, to Zürich. Did she ever get there? Did she slip on the ice and break another bone, and if so who picked her up? Perhaps she arrived in Zürich and simply got lost in bewilderment in a strange city. I imagined her misery, not knowing where she was, in freezing weather, wandering helplessly around. But perhaps she
did
arrive at the Dignitas premises, and two doctors examined her and assessed that she was not mentally competent to make a decision for herself. What then? Would she have been sent away, and who would have taken the responsibility of bringing her home? It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?
Christmas is not a good time to have your mind burdened with such thoughts, nor is it a good time for communication. I tried several times to contact Helga by telephone, but the line was always
unobtainable. I resolved to do my best to contact Eugen.
We have a friend, Carole, who speaks German. She agreed to write to Eugen on my behalf, telling him all that I knew, and sending him a copy of her last letter to me. I am sure he had no idea of her intentions. We agreed not to post the letter in the middle of Christmas and New Year festivities, but to send it in early January, three weeks after Helga’s letter of 14 December. I did not know Eugen’s surname, nor his address, so the letter had to be sent to Helga’s apartment, with no more than his Christian name on the envelope in the hope that he would find it. I also wrote to the director of the company for which she had worked for twenty-eight years. Though Helga had retired long since, I felt there might be
someone
who still knew her. Then I waited.
I waited, but no reply came.
After our Paris days, Helga and I seldom met, but our friendship continued through our letters. We both enjoyed sharing news and views, ideas and reflections. Grieving usually involves going back over the past. I could not visit the place where Helga had died, so I found pleasure and relief in writing several letters to her, as we had done over the years, although I knew there could be no reply. Here are some of the thoughts contained in these letters:
