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.’