David Goodall.

I made a note of this story several days before it concluded, precisely and concisely as David Goodall intended, in death from his own volition. Specifically, we refer to such an act as "assisted dying" or "euthanasia."

Almost immediately came the news of Scottish musician Scott Hutchison's death, presumably a suicide, and with it important discussions about depression and mental health. These echoed many of my thoughts last autumn, after we returned from the Netherlands to say goodbye to Bill.

"Then, on the 10th anniversary of his death, my mother sat us down and explained the concept of suicide."

I've nothing glib to say about any of it today, on Mother's Day, although it seems to me that last year, my mom made the decision to die. She wouldn't eat or drink, and she had made it clear for decades that she would refuse the intervention of means to maintain life at precisely such a time.

Her health was failing, and some might call this refusal of sustenance a suicide, albeit by passive and natural means. She slept until it was finished. I'll go to my own grave secure in the knowledge that I acted as she intended, by doing nothing save being there, watching, and hoping that by doing so there'd be some measure of comfort.

Regular readers know that I harbor a great deal of contempt for Hallmark Holidays, but in spite of this, my mind was open in 2017; it passed uneventfully, perhaps because the numbness hadn't quite subsided. This year is different. I find myself looking for universals in something that's highly personal, and I'm just barely intelligent enough to know they'll probably remain elusive.

This Goodall chap sounds like a good fellow. May he rest in peace. I'm uncertain how these thoughts about a male scientist, a musical Scotsman, their suicides and the death of my mother last year are connected.

Sometimes you just go with it.

A Song Before Dying: David Goodall, 104, Australian Scientist, Ends His Life in Switzerland, by Yonette Joseph and Iliana Magra (New York Times)

LONDON — On the eve of his death, David Goodall, 104, Australian scientist, father, grandfather and right-to-die advocate, was asked if he had any moments of hesitation, “even fleeting ones.”

“No, none whatever,” Mr. Goodall said in a strong voice. “I no longer want to continue life, and I’m happy to have a chance tomorrow to end it.”

Mr. Goodall spoke on Wednesday before a phalanx journalists and photographers in Basel, Switzerland. That the inquisitors had come from around the globe to hear what would be most likely the last public words of the man once called Australia’s oldest working scientist was evidence that his campaign to end his life had captivated audiences worldwide.

On Thursday, Mr. Goodall died about 12.30 p.m. local time, according to Exit International, a right-to-die organization of which he had been a longtime member.

A renown botanist and ecologist, he was not terminally ill, but his health had deteriorated so badly that he had to stop most of his activities — like working at Edith Cowan University in Perth and performing in the theater — and he did not want to continue living. A fall in his home last month exacerbated his condition.

Keenly aware that the news conference on Wednesday was one last opportunity to help promote euthanasia and assisted dying in his own country, Mr. Goodall, wearing a blue sweater with the small logo “Ageing Gracefully” on the front, withstood the barrage of questions, squinting because of the flashing cameras and sometimes struggling to understand because of his hearing loss ...

Sadly, Madison makes the newspaper of record: "Suicides, Drug Addiction and High School Football."

This story appeared on-line a few days ago, and today it hit the print edition. Like many others, I have family and friends in Madison. This hurts all the more knowing that Madison is but one example of the problem (and the tragedy).

Suicides, Drug Addiction and High School Football, by Juliet Macur (NYT)

MADISON, Ind. — An hour’s drive from Louisville, perched along the Ohio River, sits the prettiest little town.

Madison, population 12,000, has won awards for its beauty. Best Main Street. One of the top 20 romantic towns in Indiana. One of 12 distinctive destinations in the United States, according to the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

The river walk, down from the main street, is a hot spot for joggers and dog walkers and couples canoodling on benches. In the distance, a soaring bridge that connects Indiana and Kentucky often disappears behind a morning fog.

It’s all a lovely distraction from an open secret. On a reporting trip in July, I learned this in the unlikeliest of places: at Horst’s Little Bakery Haus, a doughnut shop with just a few tables, not far from the river.

A waitress had overheard me interviewing someone at the bakery earlier, and asked if I was a journalist.

She checked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. There was an urgency in her whisper as she said: “I lost my son last month. He hung himself from a tree in our yard and shot himself in the head. I cut him down myself, with my own hands. So many suicides.”

She wiped away tears.

“We need your help,” she said.

Madison, in southeastern Indiana, is at the center of a drug-trafficking triangle connecting Indianapolis, Cincinnati and Louisville. It is battling life-or-death problems ...

"The Long Con": Elmer Gantry was a fumbling neophyte compared to the late Dan Johnson.

Kentucky Center for Investigative Reporting, please come to New Albany, where the charlatans are as high as a clergyman's eye. 

This one goes out to those of my friends living outside the United States, who may be observing the state of affairs in my homeland and wondering exactly what happened to the better angels of our nature.

To me, these angels seldom ever existed. The longest con of all involved convincing ourselves they actually did. These days, we're simply reverting to the mean.

For the record, two days after the results of this investigation started being released, Rep. Dan Johnson killed himself. Rough justice, perhaps, but arguably better than no justice at all.

THE POPE'S LONG CON, by R.G. Dunlop and Jacob Ryan (Kentucky Center for Investigative Reporting)

A Kentucky preacher-turned-politician's web of lies

... The Pope, as everyone knows him, commands this side of the room, his voice tinged with the Louisiana drawl of his youth. His biceps are decorated in ink, his sideburns white, his golden pompadour thinning.

Long ago, Johnson fashioned an identity as a modern-day American patriot. Pro-gun, pro-God, pro-life. He talked in 2013 about making America great again. He lamented the lack of God in everyone’s lives. He wept over the country’s future.

But behind this persona — cultivated, built up and fine-tuned over decades — is a web of lies and deception. A mysterious fire. Attempted arson and false testimony. Alleged molestation in his church.

In Johnson's wake lies a trail of police records and court files, shattered lives and a flagrant disregard for truth.

This seven-month investigation is based on more than 100 interviews and several thousand pages of public documents. It also included numerous attempts to interview Johnson, who refused all requests.

Over and over, there were warning signs for government officials, law enforcement, political leaders and others. Yet, virtually nothing was done. For years, Johnson broke laws. Now, he helps make them.

In his latest feat, Johnson catapulted himself into the Kentucky Capitol in 2016 as representative for the 49th House District.

"Then, on the 10th anniversary of his death, my mother sat us down and explained the concept of suicide."

I tend to avoid glib assertions when it comes to being in touch with my emotions. Males tend to be handicapped in this fashion, and as an only child who spent much time alone reading, I've been inclined toward melancholy reveries and elegiac reflections as opposed to interaction.

Exacting details aren't necessary for me to say that during the past few months, the suicide of a friend has caused me to re-examine my point of view about taking one's own life, especially as it pertains to the subsequent pain of family members.

It's an examination in progress, and I've nothing transformational to divulge just yet. But while an essay like the one linked here probably would have escaped my attention six months ago, at this precise moment I'm deeply affected, particularly since it is the point of view of a woman who lost her father to suicide early in her life, as a young child.

Aisling Bea: ‘My father’s death has given me a love of men, of their vulnerability and tenderness’, by Aisling Bea (The Guardian)

The comedian’s father killed himself when she was three. She was plagued by the fact he made no mention of her or her sister in the letter he left. Then, 30 years after his death, a box arrived

My father died when I was three years old and my sister was three months. For years, we thought he had died of some sort of back injury – a story that we had never really investigated because we were just too busy with the Spice Girls and which one we were (I was a Geri/Mel B mix FYI). Then, on the 10th anniversary of his death, my mother sat us down and explained the concept of suicide. Sure, we knew about suicide. At 13, I had already known of too many young men from our town who had taken their own lives. Spoken about as inexplicable sadnesses for the families, spoken about but never really talked about … “terrible tragedy … nobody knows why he did it”. What we had not known until that day, was that our father had, 10 years beforehand, also taken his own life.