My dad died from MND. A horrible disease, it stuck without warning and ravaged his muscles all too quickly.
20 months from diagnosis to death.
At 10 pm on a Tuesday evening three years later, the news came that a bill which would have allowed him to end his life six months earlier was defeated.
My father died in September 2022, so that would have been March, hypothetically.
In May, he was in hospital for five weeks because of a fractured pelvis.
Well, to be honest, the long stay was not because of the pelvis, but rather because there were not enough trained carers in Aberdeenshire to look after him properly at home.
I remember when he finally did come home, after more than a month away.
It was the summer after my second year at university. He was so much weaker than when he had left, and he never really recovered.
My family were robbed of those weeks with my dad due to a weakened social care system hollowed out by cuts and recruitment failures.
There simply was not enough staff to deal with the increasing strain.
Yet, that summer he lived.
I had a look back at his Facebook page and found post after post sharing my student newspaper articles or my sister’s charity fundraisers.
We watched baseball games together on television and marvelled at the Red Arrows flying high over our home in the North East.
We laughed and argued and cried and God, I wish I had more time.
So the suggestion that it would have been somehow just if he had chosen to end his life in March is baffling.
It does not take much to get the sense that one is a burden, and if offered the chance to relieve such a weight, I do not doubt that many would feel compelled to do so.
Therein lies the problem; one correctly identified by disabled Scots, medical professionals, and other groups.
If our NHS can barely cope with our lives, how can we trust it with our deaths?
Of course I wanted my dad to have a good death, if such a thing is possible.
And when my mum woke me at 2 am on September the 27th to tell me he was gone, I will confess to feeling a sense of relief – his suffering was over.
These emotions are natural, anyone who lost someone dear to them will tell you that.
But I am not sure how I could live with myself if my dad had chosen to end his life prematurely to spare me pain.
I think of Independent MSP Jeremy Balfour, himself disabled, and his comments on Tuesday night.
“In passing this bill, we would be opening a Pandora's box and the effects on the most vulnerable in our society will be devastating,” he said.
“Despite what we have heard from the other side there can be no meaningful protection against coercion.
“We cannot legislate for the feeling of being a burden. We cannot legislate for the throwaway comments that make me and others feel that our lives are worth less.
"Colleagues, friends, I'm begging you to consider what the consequences of passing this bill will be for the most vulnerable in our communities.”
Wise words from a wise man.
Indeed, there is no real choice, not with the flawed system we have, one in which it is more expensive to care for someone than to give them drugs which will kill them – and thus ease their strain on the state's coffers.
There is no simple fix to the question of death.
People have tried to cope with the thought ever since our ancestors came out of Africa eons ago.
Read more:
- MSPs reject Bill to legalise assisted dying following late night crunch vote
- How every MSP voted as 12 MSPs switched to reject assisted dying Bill
- Nearly 7 in 10 Scots say improve disability care before assisted dying, poll finds
And I certainly do not believe that this parliament has cracked the code.
Liam McArthur and his bill are well-intentioned. I believe he is genuine in his desire to limit suffering.
But when the most vulnerable in our society urge restraint, we must listen.
That is why I am glad MSPs voted down the Assisted Dying Bill.
In doing so, they voted to safeguard those most at risk from coercion and pressure.
The lid on Pandora's box is bolted shut.
May it remain so.
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