2002.

It was the end of April. The heat was intense. The air felt like fire, and the houses seemed to burn. That night, I felt like ending my life. I had reached a point where living didn’t seem worth it anymore.

Life has its ups and downs, but for me, most days felt like a deep valley. Each new day brought more pain. I couldn’t see the good. I didn’t see any hope. I felt trapped and tired. I wasn’t choosing death — but I didn’t know how to go on living either.

My illness was draining our money. The cost of my treatment had almost emptied our savings. My family was struggling financially. I started to feel like a burden. I wondered if it would be better to stop everything and let the money be used for my family’s future — especially for my daughter.

People around me said things that hurt:
“He’s always going to be in bed. He’s become a burden. God should have taken him by now.”

Even I began to believe those words. I thought I was useless. I thought my family was suffering because of me. I was broken in body and spirit. That’s when the term “honour killing” came into my mind — not the kind that’s done by others, but one I was thinking of doing to myself. I just wanted peace.

I was afraid. Not just of dying — but of losing everything: my life, my family, my dignity. I thought ending my life might save my daughter’s future. I wanted to be a good father, even in death. I remembered what Jesus said: “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake?”
I wanted to do the best for my child — even if it meant disappearing.

I thought a lot about suicide. I searched online. I found the word euthanasia — a “good death.” There were two kinds:

• Active euthanasia — where doctors help end life

• Passive euthanasia — where treatment is stopped, and nature takes its course

At first, euthanasia seemed like an answer. I thought of asking my doctor. But I couldn’t speak. I stayed silent. I read that in some countries it’s legal — like the Netherlands, Belgium, and Oregon in the USA. But in India, it isn’t.

Then something changed.

One day, I looked at my little daughter. She smiled at me. She responded to my voice. She laughed when I played music. I saw love in her eyes — a deep, pure love that said, “I need you, Appa.” That love pulled me back from the edge. I realized — I still had a reason to live. Fathers are meant to be strong, especially for their children. Even if I was sick, I was still her father. She didn’t want a perfect dad — she just wanted me. That moment gave me strength. It reminded me that life is precious. Life is a gift from God. My body is not mine to destroy — it is His temple. I remembered that I was made wonderfully by God. And no matter how weak I felt, I was still His creation.

Today, I say this with all my heart: “Honour killing” is not honourable. It is not the answer.

Life must be honoured, not ended. And I thank God that euthanasia is still illegal in India. Because if it had been allowed, I might not be here to share this story — to be a father, a husband, and a man still walking in hope.