Dying on your own terms when you’re in miserable pain and just a step short of that eternal portal is, after all, the humane thing to do. The dignified thing to do.
If it weren’t for the cops, I’d want Louise to pull the trigger.
Jerry and Ellen Gilland were married in 1969, two years before Louise and I tied the knot, them in Florida and us in Detroit. They bounced around Florida for a few years, living in Sorrento, Mount Plymouth, and Orlando before settling in New Smyrna Beach where they lived when Jerry started getting really sick.
Really sick as in terminally ill. They tried to handle his illness at home, but around Christmas Jerry started going downhill fast. He told Ellen he couldn’t handle the situation and planned to shoot himself to end it all when things got so bad there was no point in continuing to live, infirm and in pain. After 52 years of marriage, Ellen understood.