"My life has been very full," wrote Polly Berger. "But now it is getting very bad, and I want to go to that other world."
"If you are concerned I will do harm to myself, rest assured that is not where I am going," she said, but she took me up on my offer to visit.
Berger was waiting for me at the end of a long hallway in her apartment building. She was nicely coiffed, wore an apron and opened her door to the smell of fresh-baked cookies.
I wasn't exactly expecting to find half-completed suicide notes and hemlock potions scattered about a neglected hovel. But neither had I expected an impeccably maintained apartment, filled with color and light and dozens of family photos. There was nothing to suggest that the 86-year-old Berger was alone in the world or ready to leave.
We began to talk.
Berger said she had read my July column about my father's deteriorating health and about our national obsession with fighting the inevitable, no matter the cost, and no matter how diminished the quality of life.
"I just bawled like a baby when I read that," said Berger, who lives alone. "I went straight into my room and wrote to you."
But while there's nothing pleasant about the subject, she said, death is not something anyone can avoid.
"I don't live in denial. I live in the here and now." And, she says, when her time comes, she doesn't want to prolong life with medical interventions. "I'm full of aches and pains."
Berger then backed up to tell the story of a Chicago girl who married a jewelry dealer at 17 and moved to Florida and later California. Early in his life, she said, her husband fell into depression after a business failed, and he never recovered. They separated in the year 2000, after 58 years together, and he later died.
At 75 and glamorous still, Berger found herself dating men she met at temple and getting advice from her overprotective daughter. The daughter insisted that Berger drive her own car to meet her first date, in case he was a beast and she wanted to flee. Ridiculous, said Berger, telling her daughter that on a proper date, the gentleman picks up the lady.
"My daughter told me to take my cellphone," Berger said, "and if I didn't like him, to go to the bathroom and call, and she'd come pick me up."
Berger enjoyed reliving her 20s in her 70s, and loved impressing dates with her touch in the kitchen. One fawning suitor quoted Shakespeare to her and told Berger she was "the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
She still zips around town in a red Volkswagen bug, keeps a journal and takes a current events class. Her greatest joy, though, is to spend time with her four children, six grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Her eyes are young when she talks about them, how good they've been to her, and how lucky a life she's led.
But wouldn't she want to hold on to that for as long as possible, then?
"You can't dance at every wedding," Berger said. She wants to be with her family in full form, not some diminished state. And never as a burden.
These kinds of thoughts began a few years ago, when physical problems first threatened the independence she so values. Berger saw several doctors for lower back pain that at times is still so severe she can barely walk. Two years ago, a surgeon told her she was too old to handle an operation.