Wife salutes a death taken with dignity

Auckland scientist Dr Hilary Moss believed in euthanasia. As debate on the controversial practice rages, his wife, Emily, tells of living in the shadow of a planned death.

My husband, Hilary, took his life in 1991, and although it was the most tragic experience of my life, it is also the most moving and comforting story.

We met in a most romantic way while flying from United States to Bermuda on a holiday in 1951. He had attended fine schools in England, had obtained his first PhD in philosophy and engineering at the age of 21 and later received a high doctorate in pure science from his published work. After a successful career in England, he emigrated to the United States. We married in 1952 and both continued our respective careers. I was a happy, creative teacher, he was a successful scientist who derived respect and acknowledgment worldwide.

His work was published and recognised as being the bible of his subject and is still the ultimate study in his field.

Our respect for each other in every aspect was even the reason for his decision to take his life.

We had a varied life, with many interests to share. We travelled to Europe every year to visit his parents and returned to America refreshed and ready to get back to normality. We had no children.

In 1968, he retired and we travelled widely. Looking for the perfect place to retire, we found New Zealand and obtained permanent residence. I felt dedicated to his wellbeing and comfort, as our compatibility was very special. He was always the strength of our marriage, yet made me feel it was my balance that made it go.

He had a strong, logical mind. He entertained himself for many silent hours by testing his ability to mentally solve mathematical equations. He was respected for his ideas and ability to write precise articles.

Our friends tell me he was a difficult man to get angry with as he tried always to see the other man's view of religion, politics, and social problems.

Others may have experienced a frustration in not persuading my husband to change his views, as they were always backed up by being well-read and informed.

He was happiest when he met an equal mind of logic, so as to speak, with knowledge to exchange many points of view. He was a perfectionist.

Yet he took his life to end what was so right for us. He became ill with cancer requiring surgery and learned he was not perfect physically. This was very difficult to accept as the quality of his life was so important to him. It mattered not to me that life had to slow down. He tired easily and felt old age (74) was interfering with his quality of life.

He began to find cycling, swimming and sailing exhausting. He did not want me to see him deteriorate, nor did he want to become dependent upon me. Even though he knew I would care for his needs, he felt it would lessen the value of my life.

He saw no way to improve the situation other than to lessen the burden I had to face in the near future.

About three months before his death, I knew he had some worries on his mind. One night he decided to share the very heavy feeling he had been suffering on his own. He began by saying that he had been nurturing a secret he could not discuss.

He told me of his plan to take his life and why he wanted to do so. He believed in euthanasia, that after living a full, healthy, successful, rewarding, fun life with the girl he loved so deeply, it was time to turn it in and end it on a high note.

He said the most terrible part would be the deception he had been engaged in because he could not share this event in his life with the one person who had always been a partner of strength.

He regretted the deceit and silence which the situation automatically forced upon us.

I did not rant or roar or beg him not to carry through this line of thinking. I hope I did not give him a reason to feel guilty in his choice.

I could identify with his frustration and felt the suffering and loneliness he had by not sharing this most difficult decision with me. I knew him so well; I knew he would not have come to any important conclusion like this without many hours of debating silently the logic of his reasoning.

What is most moving and comforting about this tragedy is that from that moment on we began going through the process of grieving together. We coped with his illness in a mature way, perhaps confusing the medical profession while trying to strive for a quality of life.

We planned my future, my financial stability, my physical and mental comfort. Our wills were simplified and we spent as much time as possible, even after nearly 40 years together, learning more about each other.

It was important not to change his way of life, so we left room for physical agility and mental ability to continue. We had fun, we were close and very caring.

He did not wish for us to adjust our social commitments, even though it might have parted us for a day.

It was a very beautiful feeling to know that we were the only two people in the whole world who knew something so private and special.

This period of our lives relieved us of many tensions, as I knew his future, even though it was to be short, was going to be happy and probably healthy.

Of course, there were many days of nervous anxiety and worry. Especially when I went out for the day. Upon my return, I would have to take deep breaths and tell myself to be brave.

Legally he could tell me only enough to free me from any participation. Therefore, he could not tell me of his method nor could he tell me when he would act. I knew he would consider my feelings and use his scientific knowledge to make it peaceful. My one regret is that I was unable to make a pact with him.

He wanted to say goodbye properly, as I left the house, if I would promise not to return and interfere. I was too weak to agree. This made it more difficult for him, and for me, as he wanted so badly to say farewell more warmly. Upon my return, I knew what to look for if he did not answer my usual "beep beep" on the horn.

The notes would be left in view, but the main warning would be of caution just inside the door. Although I knew some day I would face this tragic moment, I was devastated by the reality.

Often I ask myself, "Why didn't I stay home?" I should have been with him.

He prepared me very well. He had only a short window in which to act. He had to be well enough to carry it through and sick enough to wish to do it.

He thought of me 'til the very end. His method simply allowed him to fall asleep with peace and quiet and even the pleasure of using his scientific knowledge, which may have challenged his mind until the end.

I share this story because of the need to pass on the logic of euthanasia. In one part of his note, the message is clear:

"Sometimes perhaps in the future, Mankind will come to understand how many problems voluntary euthanasia can solve. There are millions of people in old age who seek nothing more than peaceful, painless death, relieving themselves of a life which has become a burden, both to themselves and to those around them."

I find strength in the knowledge that I have always respected his wishes, and who am I to deny him his own personal future for himself? If we believed in life after death, I would have gone with him. Now I believe that, should there be life after death, he already knows if we were wrong.

I only feel that his life continues in his ever-present being in my everyday.

I am moved by the celebrant's words at his funeral: "He had decided he never wished to continue life with the loss of dignity his growing cancer would have brought. This would have destroyed the wonderful full life he had lived, both in his work and with Emily. Good memories of the whole person were to remain. It was an act of great courage and, for Emily, an act of great love."