The Last Right by Marianne Thamm (best ebook for manga TXT) 📕

recall: my horse injuring himself badly by ripping open part of his rib cage, and then a fowl which I had bought with savings was stung by a bee in one eye. Both animals were mine and both survived.

I recollect the sadness I felt for some time until I could believe that they were going to live. Other animals died on the farm but they were not mine and I do not remember experiencing the same emotions.

At about the same age I attended a funeral for the first time when the lady who washed the laundry for a number of farms died. I am unable to recall my emotions but do remember that one of the farm owners addressed everyone. I remember asking my parents about this afterwards, and it still saddens me when on infrequent occasions I think about that funeral.

In a way I was introduced to death gradually over the years when my grandparents and later my father died. My perception was that they were old and had led a full life, making it relatively easy for me to accept.

We lived with Craig’s emotional and physical pain over many years and, for whatever reason, I believed that he would continue overcoming the life-threatening obstacles he encountered on the journey he was on.

The fact that he came to the insight that his quality of life and future prospects were such that he wanted to end his life, was understood by me. But I nevertheless was deeply shocked by him wanting to commit suicide no matter what form it was going to take. I remember having a very lengthy discussion, one Sunday afternoon, with one of the medical specialists who knew Craig’s complete situation, to try to come to terms with this fact.

I found Craig’s explanation rational as to why he wanted to go to Switzerland for assisted suicide, and although I always regarded him as an exceptionally brave son, I do think the fact that he was unmarried and without children made the decision a little easier for him.

On reflection, I realise that I started mourning Craig’s decline and ultimate death long before he left us. First he stopped playing competitive golf and later stopped playing altogether. Then he qualified as a personal trainer and accepted an invitation to join someone else in a business venture, only to come to the insight that he was not going to cope.

Even though I did not know that Craig would be ending his life, it was as if he was shutting down and I was saddened that I would be unable to play golf with him again, nor see his good golf swing or witness him fulfilling his ambition of helping others who needed to be assisted by a personal trainer.

This, together with the fact that he and Patsy were spending more and more time with each other (perhaps to deal with their grief), meant that I was unconsciously being prepared for a final and lasting separation. And so I view my grief in this light.

It has also become clear to me that people grieve in their own unique way and that they should be allowed, if not encouraged, to do so. Whether one cries or not is not right or wrong, nor does the duration and extent to which one grieves indicate how much one loved the deceased. I think that if differences in this regard simply fester on without being addressed, the probability of serious damage to a relationship is high.

The theoretical stages of grief are well documented but do not necessarily follow a particular sequence, nor does one stage necessarily pass before another begins. Evidently, more recently a view has also emerged that the bereaved experience a number of feelings rather than progress through stages. In my case I do feel that I had an opportunity to say goodbye to Craig and perhaps this helped me to accept his death. I can still feel the long hug he gave me hours before he committed suicide, and I remember his last words even though I was not sure that it would be the last time I saw him alive.

I have not had the feelings of denial that Patsy seems to have experienced and it was as if I wanted people to know that Craig was dead. At least I would not have to tell those who spoke to me about him without knowing about his death.

The death notice was written by Patsy; my only wish was that the fact that he had taken his life should not be concealed, which it wasn’t.

I do think that all this helped me to accept Craig’s death with little denial.

Other strong symbols or signals of Craig’s life and death, and which give me strength, are a hexagonal bench, used by many, around a white stinkwood tree which I see every day at my place of work.

The plaque on the bench simply reads: In memory of Craig Schonegevel. 09-12-1980–01-09-2009. Elsewhere in a large garden we have planted an ironwood tree with a similar plaque mounted beside it. A runner whom Patsy and I know tells me that when he returns from his daily run he always pauses at the tree.

Then there is also the Pier at the Hobie beachfront in Port Elizabeth from which we released Craig’s ashes and which I visit occasionally for some personal and peaceful thoughts.

At times, I still do experience some feelings of guilt about whether I should have responded differently to Craig’s decision to end his life. However, the overriding feeling is one of clear acceptance that I acted in Craig’s interest.

This belief gives me peace and strength. I am unaware of experiencing strong negative feelings other than anger with Dignitas. Their written answer, informing him that his application had been unsuccessful, arrived a day or two after his death. Taking all factors into account I fully accept the decision taken by Dignitas, but I remain convinced that they took too long with their final answer.

For us as a family