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Megan McTrusty lived with Jim in their bungalow on the Mediterranean coast.

One day, when he was watching television, his head slumped forward. He had died in a way we might almost envy.

The friends Megan rang in a panic came and helped her out, stood by her through the funeral and through her years of mourning, helped her sell her bungalow and move into a convenient apartment. They are the sort of good Samaritans who don’t need to belong to any organisation in order to do that sort of thing and fortunately there are more of them around than you might suspect.

Megan had been a violinist in a Welsh orchestra and a Lecturer for the British Council before she met Jim. She was an excellent raconteur and her after dinner shaggy dog stories were an art form in themselves. Almost like a needlewoman, she had everyone stitched up over the blueberry pie.

One day I asked her what she felt about growing older. She thought for a bit and then said she’d write me something.

I have her words beside me. Here they are.

“The thought of being terminally ill in a foreign country, helpless, smelly, abandoned and utterly alone is more than some of us can bear to contemplate.

It would be reassuring to have the opportunity of finishing one’s days in a place of one’s own choosing, a familiar, final home, within a community, (and that implies an ability to communicate).

One needs help to achieve peace and dignity, and it must be planned and worked for now.”
M. O. McTrusty.

Megan died before we began to get millenium fever and she achieved her wish with the help of the same good friends who ensured she made a good recovery from the loss of her husband. She died with them beside her. One sentence stands as a fine memorial to a lady who was brave enough to express her fear, so let us repeat it so we don’t forget:

One needs help to achieve peace and dignity, and it must be planned and worked for now.