February 1996
This was exactly what wasn’t supposed to happen,” Sofie said, when her family doctor joined her in the hospital lounge. She had been parked there with a cup of coffee while her mother was being washed and turned.
Else Corneliussen swept her blond pageboy behind her ears and sat down beside Sofie. The home care aide had phoned and said she’d found her mother dead in the bedroom. She’d also found a farewell letter to Sofie in the living room, and a water glass and a saucer stood on the night table. The empty pill bottles were beside the letter, so there would be no doubt about what had taken place. That she’d wanted to die.
But her mother wasn’t dead. Either she had been found too early or the pills weren’t strong enough. Maybe they were too old? Sofie didn’t know. She was so angry at herself for not helping her mother. For not making sure she’d taken enough. Now she lay unconscious in her room.
“She wanted so much to die,” Sofie said.
The doctor nodded. “How do you feel about your mother trying to take her own life?” She walked over and closed the door to the hallway; nurses coming in for the evening shift were walking by. She sat down.
“I’d accepted it,” Sofie said. “We talked about it several times. It was difficult, right up to when I realized the alternative was so painful and miserable, that in a way it was worse than losing her. That’s when a person understands, that’s when you set her free. Out of love and respect, I think. But of course it was hard in the beginning when she talked about it. I didn’t want to lose her. I wanted her to be with me. But finally I realized I was thinking of myself, not her.”
Restless now, Sofie walked over to the window. A small, closed courtyard with raised beds and meticulously pruned bushes lay below; in the light from the offices on the other side of the courtyard, the bushes looked like black paperclips. “You know how much pain she was in.” She turned to the doctor. “She was exhausted all the time. She couldn’t get around because of her difficulty walking. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, that’s all.”
She paused a moment. When she had stopped by her mother’s apartment earlier that day, her blanket lay on the sofa as if she had just gotten up. She turned back to the doctor. “Do you think she was afraid when she took the pills?”
Dr. Corneliussen shook her head. “I think your mother felt at peace. She was setting herself free.”
Sofie nodded. “I’ve always feared the day it would happen. The day she didn’t answer when I called, like I usually do in the mornings. She was hanging around only for my sake, she knew how unhappy I’d be. But I did manage to convince her that I was ready to let her go. She said it herself, in just the right way: ‘I’m not myself anymore.’”
The doctor nodded. She seemed to know exactly what Sofie meant. “If your mother wakes up, we will find a nursing home for her.” It was still too early to know if she would regain consciousness. “She won’t be returning to her apartment; you should prepare yourself for that.”
“That can’t happen, it can’t! I won’t have her stuck in some nursing home where she has to be fed every day. It would be so much against her wishes.”
The doctor took her hand and pressed it. “I agree, one hundred percent. I’ve also spoken to your mother about these things. Several times. In fact, I expected her to ask me to help her get the right pills. And I would have helped, I want you to know that. But I couldn’t offer to do it, she had to ask.”
Sofie turned to her. “Would you?”
The doctor nodded again. “I know her wishes, and I also know she doesn’t want life-prolonging treatment or to be kept alive by artificial means. But it’s possible she didn’t want to ask me, she knew it would put me in a dilemma, given my oath as a doctor.”
“You should have helped her.” Sofie said this quietly; mostly she was annoyed with herself. Why hadn’t they talked about this before now, when they both would have helped? “Can we do it now, so she doesn’t go through all this if she wakes up?”
The doctor’s expression was grave. “I believe it’s everyone’s right to choose when they no longer want to live.” She folded her hands in her lap. “When it comes to illness and age, I mean. When pain dominates and the will to live disappears. Or when they are entering a life without dignity. But to keep my opinion within professional limits, such a request has to come from the patient. On the other hand, as I said, I have spoken to your mother about it…”
Of course, Sofie thought. No one can suggest to another person that they die. “Will you help if I’m the one who asks? Will you help her to die?”
They looked at each other for a moment, then the doctor nodded. “But you’re not the one I’m helping,” she emphasized. “It’s your mother.”
Sofie felt something loosening up inside. She squeezed the doctor’s hand. “How?”
“It’s not something we can talk about,” Dr. Corneliussen said. She stared until Sofie got the message. “But your mother won’t be alone when she passes away.”