Well, Steve died. 85 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in his liver, kidneys, and lungs, his decline was a full slide down a steep hill. Just a few months ago, we were laughing, talking, enjoying drinks and music at a lake in the late afternoon sun. The question before us is, did he use the cocktail? This is Oregon where we have right to death laws. Steve had requested a cocktail to end his life and planned to use it. Laws control when the cocktail can be used. His wife was just requesting the cocktail last week, so we suspect that Steve died on his own yesterday, September 21, 2025.
I support the right to death, BTW. I’ve witnessed too many people growing feeble and drained by their disease to wish that on others. Many people can no longer probably communicate as they hang on by their skins. Sickness, pain, disease, and medication twist and torture their personalities into new folds. By the time of their death, they’re barely the person they used to be. But I also understand and respect others’ needs and desires to hold on as long as they can. Dying and death are complicated matters.
The thing about Steve is that we only knew each other for about three years. Our rapport was immediate. Our wives were good friends and we all became good friends, socializing multiple times at plays, concerts, and dinners. It just seemed like he and I knew each other forever.
Meanwhile, sis reports Mom has moved into her new room. Except Mom’s clothes are still upstairs. That’s a major matter. Although Mom tends to wear a series of night clothes and casual active wear these days, her closet was rigidly organized by season, color, and fabric. Tough transition for her, to cull the threads to current needs only.
This growing old, though. Coping. It’s tough. I’m at the coffee shop thinking and typing. A casual friend of two decades comes by. She uses two canes now to get around but her smile remains as bright as sunshine off snow brilliant.
All just thoughts to help me sort matters, matters which I’ll probably continue sorting until I do my own self-checkout. I won’t even try to predict when that’ll come. From what I’ve seen, change can be sudden and complete. Then again, some demises are a long trip into night.
Michael Seidel, writer 
I have been witness to two family deaths that the “owners’ saw coming. They knew they were dying, and while one (my uncle) basically announced it a year before it actually happened, my dad gave little warning, but from the way he was behaving (getting his affairs lined up, being less impatient with questions, etc.) I knew. Neither of them had had a diagnosis of death, but it was obvious if you paid attention.
Then again, maybe far more people sense this than ever admit it to anyone. It is the sort of thing that can get mixed reactions, and when all you want is someone to Know, “oh for heaven’s sake, stop throwing yourself under the bus.” is not one of the responses you want to hear.
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My FIL seemed to see his death coming. Everyone talked about how changed he was in the month before his death of a heart attack. A few days before dying, he baked a cake because he had never done that. I wonder, too, if more feel it or aware but get frightened by it and don’t want to talk about it. Cheers, M
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A very good friend of mine said that if I was in terrible shape and wanted to end it all, she would help me by holding a pillow over my face. Our safe word is an homage to the movie Young Frankenstein, “ix-nay-on-the-illow-pay”.
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Friends like that are wonderful to have. Especially if they’re straight and sober. Cheers, M
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