Could anyone, whether Bishop of Oxford or next of kin, be so self-righteous as to condone condemning someone hopelessly ill to having to struggle to end her misery with pills and a plastic bag and then, failing that, to having to drag her weary bones to Zurich to free herself at last from a wretched fate that’s no one’s to endure or not to endure but her own? Does Reverend Harries truly hold life “precious”? Who can wish for “one of the people I love most in the world” anything but the release she seeks from the pain she can no longer bear?
Stevan Harnad