Keith Olbermann: ‘My Father Asked Me To Kill Him’ (VIDEO)

This is a worthwhile (and pretty tough) lead-in to a conversation about US healthcare reform and the “death panel” lies that are still swirling (fed by lobbyists and cynical attention-seeking politicians) … (via Huffington Post)

“Last Friday night, my father asked me to kill him.”

Keith Olbermann opened his emotional Special Comment on health care Wednesday with the story of his father’s six-month-long hospitalization suffering through a colon removal, pneumonia, kidney failure, liver failure, and many infections.

After a particularly difficult week, Olbermann said he went into his father’s hospital room to find him “thrashing his head back and forth” and mouthing the word “Help.”

“It was just too much for my father,” Olbermann said. “‘Stop this,’ he mouths. ‘Stop, stop, stop.’”

Olbermann said he resorted to gallows humor, asking his father, “What, you want me to smother you with a pillow?” And his father responded, mouthing, “Yes, kill me.”

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I had a similar experience (the urgent request, call, appeal — earnest, full frontal) from someone I cared about very much last year. There were times we just wept at the suffering, wave after wave … all of it frightening, unspeakable, unknowable … until you’re ‘there’.

He’s right. Have the “life” talk sooner rather than later – P

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1 Comment »

 
  • Peter says:

    Theodore Olbermann died on March 13 after a lengthy hospitalization.

    From Olbermann’s blog:

    Theodore C. Olbermann, 1929-2010
    My father died, in the city of his birth, New York, at 3:50 EST this afternoon.

    Though the financial constraints of his youth made college infeasible, he accomplished the near-impossible, becoming an architect licensed in 40 states. Much of his work was commercial, for a series of shoe store chains and department stores. There was a time in the 1970′s when nearly all of the Baskin-Robbins outlets in the country had been built to his design, and under his direction. Through much of my youth and my early adult life, it was almost impossible to be anywhere in this country and not be a short drive to one of “his” stores.

    My Dad was predeceased last year by my mother, Marie, his wife of nearly 60 years. He died peacefully after a long fight against the complications that ensued after successful colon surgery last September at the New York Presbyterian-Weill Cornell Medical Center. My sister Jenna and I were at his side, and I was reading him his favorite James Thurber short stories, as he left us.

 

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