The Happiest Man Ever To Die

When one undergoes therapy for depression, suicide is always a concern of the therapist. I have told mine not to worry and none should be worried for me. There are reasons why I won't do it, although they're a bit muddled. For instance, I fear failure in the attempt and becoming further disabled as a result, not to mention the stigma that would be with me for the rest of my life. So that's the purely pragmatic reason. A more noble reason is that I genuinely believe I can do some good with my generous nature. While I am hedonistic as well, that's all just the stuff I do to keep myself going. In the end, I no longer live for myself or what I might accomplish, but for others. Theirs are the lives that matter and that will truly be of substance. Although I am not suicidal, that doesn't mean I don't have an odd relationship with death and my thoughts turn to said relationship as I ring in the year 2015.

While I was not present at my grandfather's funeral due to international travel, I have been told that reference was made to his suffering ending with his death. When my grandmother died, his diet worsened, leading to diabetes and doing his gout no favors. He hadn't felt well for some time and it was said that he was in the afterlife and could say for the first time in a long while that he felt just fine. That has stuck with me, because I too do not feel just fine. The daily struggle with autism, the limitations it has placed upon my life, and the loneliness that fills each day mean I am not afraid to die. On the contrary, I will be very happy when that day comes near enough to be obviously close at hand. Elderly people in nursing homes know this feeling and I have seen that firsthand. They feel that their days have gone on past their usefulness to themselves or others and that each day they awaken is just a pointless struggle to prolong a life they would just as soon leave.

I never judge those who commit suicide. Putting aside those who were too mentally ill to understand what they were doing, I completely get it. They just got tired of the struggle and watching every reason they might have to live turn to dust or be outweighed by some reason or another to die. My own decision to wait for death to come in whatever form it may take me in the fullness of time is supported by many things, such as possession of the means to live in comfort, the joys I take in generosity, cooking, and writing, and a disciplined rational mind formed out of necessity by the very autism that has so limited my life. For those without means, sources of joy, and/or the capacity to be objective under stress from struggles, they may choose another path. Whether it is right or wrong for any given person to take their own life, I do not and cannot know. All I can know is that that must be their decision. As for me, I will do as much good as I can with as much time as I'm given and, when the time comes, I will welcome death as an old friend.

-Frank