By Alex Schadenberg, Executive Director, Euthanasia Prevention Coalition
“The Execution” is a collection of original poems in memory of a daughter who was killed by euthanasia.
Purchase the collection of poems booklet from the Euthanasia Prevention Coalition for $12 plus shipping and taxes (https://epcc.ca/product/the-
I met the authors of the poems at a conference that I spoke at in Cornwall, Ontario. They told me about the death of their daughter, and it was clear that they were still experiencing the trauma of her death by euthanasia.
They shared with me several of the poems, in memory of their daughter, and I was moved by the poems.
I find the poems to be truly from the heart, from a place of sorrow and loss. I asked the couple if EPC could publish the poems because, lately, I am meeting many more people who have lost family or friends to euthanasia. They agreed.
It is my hope that these poems will help others express the truth of what euthanasia actually is. It is also my hope that people will find solace or an outlet for their own emotions after a euthanasia death.
I have republished the first poem only.
The Death Squad.
They marched down the corridor
like jackboots in a Hitler movie
I know because I was sitting
just outside the door in the palliative unit.
The anesthestist was a short woman
with grey curly hair and round
wire rimmed glasses framing her pallid face.
And she was cradling a large syringe.
They stood outside the door, talking in muted tones.
The little doctor held the needle
with the care and respect
reserved for something
that can snatch a life away in seconds.
She moved in a way that
told me she had done this before.
They were wearing protective gear,
in defence against the virus,
and to protect them from the guilt pangs
they would suffer after killing a human being.
They smelled of death, indifference and ideology.
When I was a kid I once watched
a group of government workers
dressed in yellow rubber coats,
shoot a hundred sick pigs with high powered rifles,
firing repeatedly into a mass grave.
And they had the same look on their faces
as the people outside the door.
But the thing is, I was now much older,
and I was also a father.
But not for much longer,
because you see,
I was sitting outside my daughter’s door,
waiting for the death squad to wave me in.
Editor’s note. This appeared on Mr. Schadenberg’s blog and is reposted with permission.