I have given serious consideration to what life might be like if I chose to live on. It's been rich and full, with three careers, extensive travel and wonderful experiences.
My life is over, and for me, that is perfectly okay.
The best analogy I can summon is it's as if I'm sitting in an empty classroom, waiting for a teacher who has gone, and will never return. I am grateful for friends and for the life I've had.īut whatever meaning I derived from that life, including past work, interests and hobbies, disappeared with Alec. I go for walks, smell roses (literally), and appreciate the splendour of our magnificent, though ransacked planet. I read, do jigsaw puzzles and help my friends with their projects. I am sad but sadness hasn't prevented me from accepting all invitations and being (after the first few months) good company, as well as enjoying those I'm with. I've spent exhaustive months wrestling with our finances which are healthy enough for a comfortable lifestyle. I haven't wilted, baulked at challenges or been reclusive. However, wanting to give God or fate a chance, it was a few months before I realised if I wanted death, I'd have to organise it myself. My husband's slippers lie on the floor beside his chair. AN OPEN LETTER TO AUSTRALIA, AND THE WORLD It tells of a plea for the rational to be better understood and respected in their end-of-life decision making.
Annah Faulkner's final non-fiction writing in the form of her suicide note is poignant, thought-provoking, life-affirming and tragic.
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