Sometime in the summer of 2017 I wrote in my journal, Jesus fucking Christ, please save me. I was trapped in hell, and I could see no way out. Our beautiful, sunny, two-bedroom penthouse apartment in the East Village which I had rented for Rayya to make her happy in the last months of her life had become a dungeon of misery, danger, degradation, drugs.
This signing today is about relieving suffering and giving families the comfort of knowing that their loved one was able to pass on their own terms, without unnecessary pain.