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 - 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 - a sheet of ice gripped the whole of Northern Europe - 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:
Dearest Helga,
In your earlier letter you say, ‘I hope you understand, in spite of religious doubts.’ Of course I understand, dear brave Helga, struggling with burdens you no longer have the strength to bear, knowing that things can only get worse. But: ‘in spite of religious doubts’? There I am not so sure. I have doubts aplenty, but they are not based on religion, because there is no religious teaching on the subject. As far as I am aware, none of the world religions – Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Jewish – or any philosophical teachers of any era can help us. What did Socrates or Aristotle have to say? Or Jesus Christ or Mohammed? Nothing. They had plenty to say about death, but not about man’s ability to prevent death. We are entering a new phase of history and we cannot look to the past for guidance. Religious teaching has to adapt and find a new way. No, Helga, I do not have doubts because I am a Christian. And if anyone starts telling me they ‘know the mind of God’, I think I will scream!
You also said, ‘In my opinion life in age becomes more and more fearful and painful and death is, for me at least, a hopeful aspect.’ These are beautiful and inspiring words, especially as you have always said you do not consider yourself to be a true believer like Eugen (a Catholic) or me (an Anglican). I am sure that your attitude that death is a hopeful prospect is echoed by millions of people worldwide.
Of course, ten or twelve years ago, when you were around seventy, you could have died of cancer. When we were young girls, no one would have been surprised; after all, threescore years and ten was the span of life for mankind. But medicine saved you and you had ten more years of active and happy life. But now you say, ‘Life in age becomes more and more fearful and painful,’ and this leads to suicide. I hope and pray that all went smoothly for you on your last journey, and that none of my worst imaginings came to pass. I wish you had had someone to accompany you, just to make your journey easier … but…
Dear, lovely Helga, you have always been an inspiration to me, and I lament your passing and grieve for your suffering, and hold you in my prayers with love and memories of youthful happiness.
Rest now in peace eternal. Jennifer
Helga was a very considerate and thoughtful person. She wanted to die and she was determined not to trouble anyone. These desires are entirely understandable, and I have heard many people say something similar. Yet, in acting as she did, she has probably caused more turmoil than she could ever have anticipated. For those left behind, the knowledge of suicide is harder than any other death to get over. Shock, grief, guilt and bewilderment are all mixed up in the mind. An endless cycle of self-reproach is common – ‘What could I have done? Where did I fail?’ Even I, hundreds of miles away, feel this. What must it be like for Eugen? Helga told me that she wanted him to have a new life with a new partner, but, in fact, she may have inflicted a wound that could trouble him for the rest of his days.
Helga’s fault was secrecy, but even that is understandable. No one talks about death, and she felt unable to discuss her fears and intentions with Eugen who, she had convinced herself, would be shocked and try to stop her. It is easy to imagine that she could not bring herself to raise the subject, even though, dozens of times, she may have wanted to. She was trapped in the taboo, which is as strong in Germany as it is in England. So she took her last steps alone.
IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEATH
Much of this book is dark and dreadful, and the reader could be forgiven for thinking I must be a miserable old stick, best avoided. Hotly, I refute the allegation!
It is true that I have contemplated death throughout my life, but not negatively. In fact, it has been the spur and stimulus of all my many activities and interests – life is short, enjoy it while you may. If you cannot envisage your own death, how can you enjoy life? Or, to put it another way, it is impossible to live life to its very fullest if you fear death, which is our certain end.
‘It is finished,’ were Christ’s last words from the cross. His life’s work was done and he could say ‘Into Thy hands I commend my spirit’.