Ellen Kolb

In praise of opinionated friends

A few of us got together this week at a local café. The poor baristas hardly knew what hit their tidy little shop. Who could possibly be making all that racket, with crossfire conversations and laughter that might have set off the seismograph at the local library?

the word "friendship" spelled out in letters on wooden tiles — image by Fuzzy Rescue/Pixabay

Let’s see: one ex-rep, spending her summer on the road with her husband, back in town for a brief visit. Two current legislators, fresh off a busy session. There was a friend who like me has avoided elective office and found other ways to be up to her neck in politics. And there were women at the table for whom politics is like heat rash, to be tolerated only on a temporary basis.

God bless them, every one. We often agree on policies and politicians, but not always. We are opinionated. We might even be outspoken when prudence would dictate otherwise. (Moi…?)

None of that mattered. We were there as friends, valuing each other, talking about the families we love to distraction, sharing our plans for the future. We weren’t there for shop talk.

I couldn’t help but think about all I’d have missed with some of those women if I’d hidden behind my badge at the State House, settling for their votes without getting to know them. We’ve moved past positions and become friends. It took time, but here we are.

Essential reading, as end-of-life policy is in the news

For anyone keeping an eye on news involving the right to life, this has been quite a week. The American Medical Association’s House of Delegates refused to endorse assisted suicide. The next day, New York legislators voted to legalize assisted suicide. At this writing, the bill is on its way to the governor.

Deadly Compassion: the Death of Ann Humphry and the Truth About Euthanasia, a book published 30 years ago, seems startlingly relevant once again. While in part a history of a movement, it is primarily the story of Ann Humphry, her friendship with author Rita Marker, and the malignant influences that affected Humphry’s decision to take her own life. Such stories about individuals at their most vulnerable affect public policy more than any opinion poll or collection of statistics ever can.

Marker was founder of an organization dedicated to combating assisted suicide and euthanasia. In the course of her work, she met Ann Humphry, whose husband Derek was a leading light of the pro-euthanasia Hemlock Society. The two women developed a warm friendship that ended only with Ann’s death, the circumstances of which were closely tied to the movement promoted by her by-then-estranged husband.

Even in her grief over Ann Humphry’s death, Marker did not resort to melodrama when she wrote Deadly Compassion. She was smart enough to know that the bare facts were dramatic enough on their own.

If you’ve ever wondered how some of our states got to a point where the direct intentional termination of human life has been adopted by legislators as a desirable policy, the answer is “little by little.” Decades after its publication, Deadly Compassion continues to make the case for resisting the creeping tide.

Note: Following Marker’s recent death, her organization’s work is being continued by the Institute for Patients Rights.

A fleeting gem

I spent part of the Memorial Day weekend enjoying a good long walk on the Rockingham Recreational Trail, one of the many rail trails gracing New Hampshire. How good it felt to shake off the recent rains!

I saw plenty of cyclists. I’ll bet they were moving too fast to see what was in bloom along the way. I’d never before seen so many ladyslipper flowers in a single outing. They were a deeper pink than the ones I’ve seen earlier in the season – dark enough to show the flower’s delicate veining that’s not discernible in paler blossoms.

Ladyslippers are ephemeral, like nearly every other spring flower. They’ll be gone in a couple of weeks, re-emerging next year or the year after. But what treasures they are, while they last! There’s no point in trying to cut or transplant them. They simply don’t survive such things. I have to take them on their own terms, right where they are.

Excerpted from Braided Trails.