Decisions

Oliver had been diagnosed with a progressively fatal genetic disorder. Three strokes and a severe case of Encephalitis that diagnosed him. He’d been transferred to a Hospital an hour away to treat his Encephalitis diagnosis. The local Hospital simply wasn’t capable of caring for him after seeing how severe it was. It’d taken half a dozen textbooks and one spinal tap to diagnose him after he was transferred. The diagnosis helped him understand his mothers death far more. It was one that had taken his mothers life over twenty years prior. It primarily affects Women. Men can be diagnosed with it. Like any other health issue. Illnesses do not discriminate after all. It hit him hard at first. He reflected on his mothers life. On her death. He dove into doing research. As usual. He found as much as he possibly could on MELAS Syndrome. He’d found a group through Social Media. People who’d been living with it. People who had relatives living with it. People who understood what he was going through in some way.

He’d begun talking about it more. His dad had been placed into an Assisted Living Facility at the start of his journey across the country. The Dementia diagnosis along with other things that happened being the main reasons. Along with the fact Oliver wouldn’t be able to become his Caregiver long term anyway. He’d begun speaking to Medical Professionals especially. People he’d known would know nothing about MELAS. He’d begun speaking out as much as he could. He’d become a Public Speaker. He’d begun going to major Hospitals around the country talking about his diagnosis. About his Maggie as well. Questions at the end of his speech took most of the two hour session he would so often do. He’d planned it that way knowing there’d be more than a few questions. He knew there’d come a point where he’d become bedbound. He’d been doing everything he could to lead a normal life. As much as he could. It was becoming harder to do. He’d been touring the country long enough. 

He’d made the decision to go through with Assisted Suicide at the beginning of his diagnosis. He’d not established residency soon enough in any of the states that allowed it. He’d made the decision to travel instead. He’d wanted to do so while he was able to. He’d gone to the Catskills in upstate New York instead. He’d begun using Cannabis to manage the pain he was in. He’d gotten more than enough. Or so he thought. He was nearly out of what he’d purchased. He knew he didn’t have much time left though. He was sleeping far more. He wasn’t able to do anything else. He’d left everything needed in plain sight. For when he didn’t wake up. 

The few neighbors near him were retirees that would often sit with him and talk about their lives. Fellow Cannabis smokers. People who were proud of him for what he’d done. He’d written about his journey unsure he’d finish it before dying. He didn’t mind in some ways. Some things are best left finished at whatever point they’re at. He knew that may very well be the case with his memoir. He’d written an ending for it though regardless of where he was in the memoir when he died. 

He’d let his little family know his time was nearly up. That he wanted one last smoke session in the morning. At sunrise. With the people that’d become family to him. He’d packed his favorite Bong to the brim. The little he had left after that lay on the table to his right. Everyone knew he was going to smoke all of it. That he’d likely die not long after sunrise. He’d be medicated enough that he’d likely fall asleep listening to the conversation. He’d done just that. He’d talked for a little bit as they smoked. He’d gone quiet as he smoked the last of his cannabis. He’d been deep in thought. He’d set his bong down after he was finished. Ellie had been the one letting everyone know he was gone. Ben was the one that called 911. Ellie picked up his ashes a few days later and spread them in the nearby lake.