Donna Darkwolf cruising around Seal Island. Hout Bay.

"Once in A Blue Moon, Orion's Whisper, Gymnopédie No.1" Erik Satie / Taro Iwashiro Mix.

Donna, My Nefertiti,
She is made up of depths even the Ocean cannot fathom.
She wears Stars upon her ears,
and clothes herself in a Map of The Heavens.

Foam on The Sea. Donna Darkwolf's Last Words - Part 2

These are the last thoughts that I will phrase and action. Another irrelevant ‘suicide’. Completely insignificant – like a beautiful abandoned raindrop on a window sill.

I stopped paying attention to anyone or anything that tells me it is a virtue to suffer, endure pain, humiliation, terrible sadness that can be controlled, persecution, and ordeal, relentless loss that does come with age, in order to Die and be Free.

However, most folks do not think like me and it is their choice, desire and right to suffer, whether they perceive it as such or not. It is not mine. There will always be a few folks who do quite well considering age related matters, just as there are those with hopeless and/or chronic illnesses that do not intend to consider the thing I am going to do.

For those of you that imagine you will die peacefully, not languishing, not lonely, frightened or sad, surrounded by loved ones, sane, free from chronic pain (emotional, spiritual, financial, mental or physical), cared for by endless supplies of money, and ‘guardians’ to ensure you are not abused, - or others who somehow believe they will not meet a violent end, or others who fantasise about –‘I will die quickly’, live fast and die furiously, go out with a blast, and all that jazz…

I salute you. And I do hope that for you.

I for one will not be dependent on any ones goodwill, patience, kindness, tolerance or conscience.
Nor do I buy into the fantasy that money will safeguard your safety. Vulnerable people will always be fair game for abuse.

As much as I do not want to discuss my grandmother – because it is too painful for me, I am compelled to. Based on the example and choice of my parents, hers too was a choice, albeit an unconscious one, one decided for her and endorsed by society. A society that deem such suffering normal, acceptable, even good- ‘the right thing’. The human thing you know.

Granny died of old age at 94. She was wonderful, funny, and down to earth. Not nearly as ‘complex’ as my parents were – she herself would say. I could talk to her about anything – that of course translates into ‘boys’. She was practical. We had loads of fun together. After her fourth husband died (they all died tragically), she became an empty person.


They had moved to a retirement village after a very fulfilling life. They were very happy there and made many friends. After his death, however she was not interested in friends.

I wondered how it could be that they were all ‘old’ and yet did not get together for dinner parties.
With wisdom I came to the realization that age is not the criteria for friendship, or the motivator to make new memories.

Granny was given her own room – where she lived terrified until the day she died. She had asked if she could come and live with me. It was a question I have to block out of my memory. I was unable to assist with what was fast becoming "special needs".
To this day, I weep. I do not weep for my parents.

They died well, on their own terms. They were not forced from their home, nor were they violated.

They did not die non-compos mentis, as seems the fate of many who are taken from their lives, more often than not suddenly, without out adequate bridging and preparation.

At 87 she contracted dementia. I did not understand this terrifying and vile disease. She did not have the disease in the way we commonly understand. There were no periods of lucidity and then confusion. There was no repetitive questions. She would walk, like a mad person, up and down in quite an aggressive manner. There was crazy in her eyes.

The nurses told me this is normal. NORMAL!!!! I joined an Alzheimer’s support group but we all felt hopeless. Those however with family and other resource support, were able to share the emotional, physical, financial and logistical responsibilities.

I did not have that support. It was only me. Along the road, I came to meet many ‘me’s’. A few of us have similar opinions.

The day I visited and found the nurses dragging her to her bath – as if a goat to the slaughter – her frail legs almost sown together with age and dementia related paralysis, that is the day I thanked my parents again and again and again for not putting me through this.

That is the day that there would be absolutely no negotiating with me about the fact that I would make the choice they did. That is also the day I could no longer bear the pain. That is the day I felt shame. I felt shame for me – who could not do more for her. That is also the day I was so angered at our ‘civil’ society who espouse the virtues of old age, the ‘wisdom’ of our elders.

Well, I know differently.

I was with Granny the day before she died, battling with pneumonia, drowning in her phlegm. At one point granny returned to her soul, and she looked at me and said;’ Donna my throat is so sore’, and then returned to her vacant self. It had been years since she had called my name.

Nothing we could do. ‘Nature’ had to run its course. I was phoned that night at 21h45 and the undertaker asked me if I wanted her clothes. I asked what she had on. ‘A nightie’ they said. ’Socks?’ I asked. ‘None’ they said’. ‘Blankets’ I asked ‘. ‘One’ they said.

It was the middle of winter. On countless occasions, I would visit in winter and she would have on only a nightie, no socks (despite I bought her many pairs) and one blanket.

And I would rave. And rage. And I watched…. I watched those that were compos mentis, obviously being better treated than those who were not. There are obvious reasons for this.

The nurses/care givers, themselves, most often work in thankless, and as with most, underpaid and overworked jobs.
Many are not skilled, nor do they have the disposition for it.

But I can’t leave our memory of granny on such a sad note – so I shall tell you a funny one. Its about the nighties.
Granny loved nighties – you know those glamourous ones we ordinary people can’t get nowadays. Satin and lace.

She had gravity defying boobs and never wore a bra. It was my 31st birthday and granny flew up to Johannesburg to celebrate it with me. She asked me what she should wear. I dared her to wear one of her nighties. And she did just that! She slayed it!

Growing up I became aware of some of my family’s genetic vulnerabilities. As I matured, I would have to manage a few of my own.
At the beginning of last year some cousin’s came home to roost, and if medical prognosis is anything to go by I do not intend to stick around to host or entertain them.

They were destructive guests at the rest of my families table. I do not want to inflict these on my loved ones. I see no need, nor have any need to delay the inevitable.
I do not intend to fight with machines, doctors and broccoli.

Although I have always liked broccoli, I am a pragmatist. I am dying sooner as MYSELF, rather than a lessened "other".

This is how I choose to meet ‘God’. I will not trade my body or my mind. I would like to be my authentic self until the end.

That is the physical/medical. I could spend a long time explaining it all but I am not interested in justifying that.

I also do not wish to drain my financial resources, just because I am unable to accept that I have a date with death. I do not have unlimited financial resources.
Very few people have. I am leaving my financials to a cause that still has its life course to run. I will not be a burden and it is as simple as that.

I am however aware and supportive of those who choose to carry this burden even if they do not consider it one. It may be seen as duty, or honour bound, it does not matter. I have long ago moved beyond a point where we do not speak about the truths of the human and financial costs that debilitating (pending), hopeless illness, age or palliative care put on many of us.

I had this discussion with my parents when I was 19. It may disturb some people it does not me – or the myriads of folk like me or those that work in the ‘death industry’ and particularly those who are advocates of the Right to Die Societies.

I have never understood the need to fight against or prolong the inevitability of human frailty. It saddens, depresses, and even angers me when I hear: ‘he/she has lost the ‘battle’ with….(cite illness)’. Or’ he/she is fighting’, ‘he/she is a fighter’, ‘he/she is not a quitter’’.

And when they die we hear: ‘he/she has lost the’ battle’ with … (cite illness) or ‘s/he has succumbed to his illness.’

The fragile hope placed on the incumbent’s recovery is often more devastating than the death itself. Too often, I see the living unintentionally punish and pressurising their dying by clinging onto them, forcing them to remain trapped in their painful bodies or emotional and mental distress, not freeing them and by doing so making the transition difficult for the dying.

It is an extraordinary burden to place on the dying, who very often must comfort the living. There is to me nothing brave about holding on, but everything about letting go – form both sides.

It is some sort of sham bravado, some sort of weird stubbornness against the universe that will claim you.
We all have to make this journey.
>We need to be wise as to know when to fight and when to surrender.

Surrender and defeat are not the same. The prayer of serenity is a possible guideline:
‘God (add your own deity, science or ideas of higher consciousness) grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference’.

Whilst you may or may not find the above two reasons for my exiting (now) understandable, the third is controversial. But it is honest.
It is the chronic spiritual illness of our violent and angry planet.

It is too far gone for any meaningful intervention on my part. I am no longer in a position, nor have I the motivation, capacity, desire or will to confront, combat and conquer the terrible, horrific pain, brutality, cruelty, despair and fear that the overwhelming majority of people, animals and other sentient beings live in the world do.

I also can no longer abide those who pray for them/us from their golden thrones. For my part, I have seen, experienced, comprehended, reflected and understood life, especially my life, well. It is all these things and much more that have contributed to my decision to exit now.

If anyone for one-second doubts that I have not seen, experienced, comprehended, enjoyed the great bounty, understood the majesty, and marvelled at the beauty of this planet, they are mistaken.

Furthermore, whilst it has been difficult for me to strike a balance between the disproportionate disparities of these two opposing dimensions, I have done quite well despite my predisposition to my sensitivities.

Therefore, in this regard, no one will interfere with my liberty and my autonomy in the matter most central to my life. I will not be blackmailed, jeopardised, tricked, ambushed or sabotaged by anyone who says, and it always is in sincerity, to me ‘it’s such wasted potential’, ‘you can still make such a difference’, ‘rise like the phoenix’. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way’.

I do not have things to ‘do’.

It is all done. In addition, I will not be pressurised into having a purpose already fulfilled.

This is my journey. The previous mentioned sentiments are part of your journey and your interpretation of mine. What you win in this equation I lose. I am simply a pilgrim, my own shepherd, and I will see where I go from here. I am on a speed train to I do not know where. Maybe it misses the station I do not know. It does not matter.

It is of no concern to my soul – or yours.

There are other reasons that are hastening my departure – I cannot commit it to paper, mostly because then I would have to write a book. I have no intention of being published posthumously.

A number of you have witnessed over the past three years in particular, my bestowing all my ‘worldly treasures’ upon you. Paintings, books, statues, clothes, jewellery – anything that I used to identify myself with. It has been an active, deliberate, gentle and conscious process.

One of you made me really laugh. In all sincerity, you asked me if I was going into an old age home.
Never! I will never sit in God’s waiting room. He is always late.

The physical de-cluttering was simply a metaphysical manifestation of my detaching from earthly things that have bound, shaped, controlled and enslaved me for so long. This has all been in preparation for the time that is right -now.

It is impossible for me to describe the liberation that has come with the deliberate act of de- identification. Part of this process was also becoming more and more uncomfortable with sharing a branch with the entitled enlightened. (I was one of them).

Therefore, I hopped off and found my own little twig to perch upon. There were no neighbours, just travellers.
I never got lonely.

I have acquired a border-controlled substance. Let me make it clear………

nobody has helped, assisted, aided, abetted, encouraged or enabled me, except my own instinct, privileges, presence of mind, self-determination, and bank account, which allows for a gentle and quick transition without hideous disfigurations.

This choice carries an extraordinary amount of years in jail, a fine exceeding the lotto, the humility of a trial and so much more.

This is an unacceptable risk for some, but it was a risk I was prepared to take and I have done so without compromising anyone. Of that, I am very proud. The journey has come with unfathomable challenges.

It is not easy to die in a planned, controlled, rational, responsible, respectful, peaceful, calm, comforting, safe and dignified way.
Anyone that thinks so is of diminished capacity.

Donna Darkwolf at dinner with her parents

It is obvious that I have spent a lot of time lately revisiting my parent’s rationale, reasons and logic that took them to the place I now am at. Moments before my dad exited, he said this to me: ‘daddy can’t protect you anymore. Let me go’. I can tell you with complete honesty that ‘letting go’ is the hardest part.

This has been a bit of a process for me.

To somehow find a way to let go. To realise I cannot control, help or guide from the grave. Then I realise that that is the ego talking.
None of us can protect each other when this time comes. We all share the human experience of birth and death.

There is nothing that differentiates us in the last moment before we close our eyes for the final time. At the end of our last breath, we all stand naked in front of truth. There are no symbols of faith or protections of oaths to hide behind. This to me is profoundly wonderful and liberating.

In that instant Dad and I looked each other in the eye and we both knew where we stood with Death, Life, the Universe and each other.
Then proceeded to nuke our Woolworths TV dinner, watch the soapie we loved, and share a bottle of expensive wine.
Nothing more nothing less. No drama, pomp or ceremony.

My greatest gripe right now is that I will not get to see an important ending in my favourite soapie. I mean who of you will be able to tell me about Paula and Altus forever inspirational love affair now in jeopardy, or the first Miss Hillside pageant ever where the first Trans woman has appeared and no one in our ordinary lounges knows how to deal with it.

For interest sake, in the above photo I was 32, mom was 54 and my dad 55. I have Exited at 55 – I would have preferred 54 but so it is. She exited at 61 and him at 64.
I despair when I hear people say of those who pass away at a ‘young’ age “he/she was taken before his/hers time’ Or, ‘His/her life has only just begun/cut short’ or ‘He/she had her whole life before her’.

Alternatively, ‘well, he/she lived to a ripe old age/had a good innings”. Death has no preferences. When it is time, it is time and anything less retards and stifles the process of grieving, healing and moving on.

Despite the fact that my dad was not a religious man he still had some subconscious hangover and attachment to the poisonous age-old paranoiac, nonsensical idea that he would go to ‘hell’ in whatever form or fashion.

He was prepared to go into ‘hell’ to find my mother. It saddened and sickened me. Shame on any of you who support and purport such an ideology, no matter how subtle. Karma is more insidious. The ‘coming back to ‘re-learn lessons’. There are no lessons my parents need to learn.

Whom does all the negative spirituality serve and benefit? Where is this useful or helpful? What is the purpose – at the end of one’s life to die with fear in his or her heart? Surely, those of us who consider ourselves more enlightened should be able to understand that sometimes we can cure, other times all we can do is offer relief, but surely, we should always be there to comfort?

All of this – fear, judgement and manipulation is not only spiritually flawed; it is a spiritual crime, a travesty of spiritual justice. Spiritual capital punishment will never be abolished.

I am exercising my right to die - with Dignity - Privileged to be able to choose to die in the sanctity and comfort of my own home.
Where my Soldier will fetch me in the morning - as he always has, for ten years. (He never tells me 'good night'. He says: 'I will fetch you in The Morning'.)
I choose not to die at Golgotha.

I do not have to. The finest death has already taken place there. It is a place of shame, blame, judgment, incredible cruelty and humiliation, perversion, sadism, mockery, brutality, ruthlessness, filth and debasement. There is no peace there.

I choose the tranquil garden of Gethsemane. I have accepted an invitation to walk alongside the enigmatic, ethereal, and most often misunderstood Mary Magdalen, almost invisible in the morning mists. A rediscovery of ‘Grace’.

I am Exiting , surrounded by calming familiar noises, smells, my beloved snails, rain frogs, seagulls, the notorious Cape Town winter wind and fog, lilies and yellow daisies; with my duvet and pillow which I do so love, especially my pillow, and all the things some of us take for granted.

I count myself extraordinarily privileged.

I am. I really am.

Some might harbour anger and bitterness towards me despite my best efforts to make peace with you, on this last leg of my human journey. I know that in the final moments of my last conscious breath I will release myself from any anger I might harbour against anyone or anything. And when the time comes for your passing I hope you will do the same.

For the many of you that have gone above and beyond ‘duty’, enhanced my understanding of the human condition, encouraged me despite my bugger ups, inspired me to try to be more than I am, bandaged my knees when I have fallen, thank you.

That is all I can say to you. I have reached a wonderful point of no return and I am so grateful. The ultimate burden has lifted and there is tranquillity and serenity.

Donna Darkwolf Voyages into The Undiscovered Country

The greatest hero in the narrative of the longest, most difficult, and perhaps the most exhilarating chapter of my life would be my Flight Lieutenant Franco.
My personal "Minion".
An unassuming man with the most extraordinary capacity for love, kindness, compassion and ability to forgive. In addition, the bravest heart with extreme mental courage. A true soldier. My own Soldier.
Nothing more, nothing less.

His job was to bring back the soldiers on his helicopter. Dead or alive. They all went home together.
The soldiers listened for the sound of the choppers blades, and the sound could be heard...
"the Breath of Angels... Everywhere... for 1000 Yards".
These Angels would fetch them in the morning.

The night was too dark and dangerous.

A picture Donna had hanging up in her office

Airmobil3 - No Flight In Vain. "Live in the Air. Die by Fire"
It was the one image I could find on the internet, to show Donna what "my office in the sky", looked like.
We never had many combat photographers back then, in Rhodesia. She loved it so much, she framed it.
Moreno Franco

No angels will fetch me in the morning. They do not have a mandate to disturb the equilibrium of the seashore and the foam upon it.
I DO however, have One beautiful Soldier. My own to Trust, to complete this Circle.
My own Franco will Fetch Me in the Morning. My own Angel by any regard. Pure - Trustworthy.

I can hear the Breath of Angels!... Everywhere. For One Thousand Yards...

Fortune has smiled upon me.
I have my own Soldier to protect and hold me.
A battle-scarred Soldier. A single, lone Soldier".
"He answers to me... And me alone. The only one now, who fulfils our destiny".
Who could imagine the romance of The Witch and The Soldier?
My Franco achieves, in a heart-beat, that which no other men in my life were ever able.
"A take charge kind of guy!"
"I'm The One you did not count on", is his reply to some people sometimes.

SURPRISE! Like a rock in the road, in the dark...
Generally. Not the "surprise" any one wishes for.
Hence: "surprise"

I have my own dearest Soldier... and my darling personal, private Minion
to keep this production rolling.
He knows what I am about. He is my ground support, flight mission director and event recovery team - all rolled into one. A one-man crusade.
My own soldier, who loves me. And as he says: "Dead, or alive, we all come home together".
He will see me safely off.
And he will fetch me home to the sea, where I have always lived.

I know I will not un-honored rest
The symbol of Time shall not reap
My still heart from my torn breast
While the myriad millions sleep
For I have my Soldier
Who will my Own Heart Keep

See Full Card
In the spirit of my Donna Darkwolf "EDITING" greeting cards, to suit her own purpose. Just cross out stuff and insert her own INTENT. HOW MARVELOUS!

If I stop to think about my life, (which is now irritating me I must say) would I have done things differently? Could and should I have? Have I failed myself? My parents? Made different choices? Made more of a difference? I do not know. It does not matter.

I learned a long time ago that what I had was enough. That I am/was enough. That realization has made me understand how extraordinarily privileged I have always been, and I am now using the advantages that come with those privileges to exercise my choice.

I am not sure about this ‘regret’ business. However, if I am obliged to have one it is that I did not learn to waltz - until late in life.
Except in my kitchen with my franco coaching me, while he makes us dinner.
my beautiful soldier is my personal chef and my in-house dance teacher.

I am unspeakably grateful to organisations and thousands of likeminded educated, capable, sane, rational, responsible, reasonable people, and most importantly compassionate people that understand and appreciate our individual need for self-deliverance, thereby empowering us by respecting our right to die at a time and place of our own choosing, with dignity.

I have never been so humbled in my life. No one can really appreciate his or her role and bravery. Unless you live the story, no one else can tell it for you. Any attempt at this gets lost in translation.

Now I am going to go to sleep. My mind has not been able to rest for many many years, and it has disturbed my soul, which is actually a quiet and peaceful one.
Despite my best efforts to meditate, medicate, de-tox, rehab, chant, dance, mantras, tantra, find the holy grail in supposed ‘spiritual countries’, diet, fast, exercise, count the blades of grass in my garden or the grains of sand on the beach, and so much more, in a ‘one size fits all’ campaign for self-enlightenment and spiritual relief, I have reached nirvana and satori on my own.

Without all of that. I think this is how it is supposed to be – on our own. Never mind how you get there.

I have diarised so many moments of laughter – each of you have made me laugh so much in my lifetime here and I have made you laugh and we have all laughed together. If I were able to (as has been the case in a few rare cases of self-deliverance) I would have a party.

In addition, you would be the guest of honour. Therefore, I am determined to die laughing.
If I do not I will certainly cry. And my tears will keep me earth bound.

Should my laughter memory box get stuck I have plenty of backup with Gru’s minions, all things Tyler Perry ‘Medea’, and Vetkoekpaleis. I believe in my whole heart that wherever I might be might assigned to I will find someone that thinks Vetkoekpaleis is as funny as I do.

So please do not keep me earth bound by your tears. Death only has meaning for those left behind. Sadness requires the luxury of memory.
Remembrance requires sheer will.

Donnas Little Mermaid

I Am Simply a Mermaid Who Turns Into Foam.

I live in the Ocean and I arrive on the shore with every wave.
My ashes will be scattered by my companion soldier, from a HUEY helicopter gunship over Blouberg Sea where I will join my dad and my best friends and loyal companions (Borg and Gremory), as foam.

And so the seasons have come and gone - Summer has been seduced by Autumn, (I have always been suspicious of that young Autumn boy), and the Winter sun has ascended. Soon the Moon will rise and cast her cold sheltering shadow over all of us. Dawn will quickly follow and the world will appear the same. It is as if I never existed. I never did. Foam on the seashore.
That was the destiny I understood when I was four years old.

Now there is a great peace upon me and in my home, a great sense of achievement, deliverance, fulfilment, realization, release and relief - eternity has entered my time.
I am very grateful I did live – here. And that I met you.

Bye, bye my lovelies. My greatest wish/hope for you all is that you die well.

Donna Deneil Vos

Russel James Vos

Valerie Isabella Vos.

My Flight Lieutenant, and faithful Minion. My wonderful Franco,
my Beautiful Soldier, who will Fetch me in the Morning.

Roma Victor!

The Donna Darkwolf. Resolved. Resolute. Determined - Winter Solstice, June 2016

Would you please lift your head in a great life-affirming hymn - sing and dance with me, to ‘Do You Love Me’ – (the ‘dirty dancing’ version).

Franco's Note: Seriously? You gotta hand it to my shiny wife. 8200 words and then Dirty Dancing???

Aaahhh!! Donna Ragazza Mia.... Even while you are punching out, there's gotta be one last comment in Mirthful Glee...

Readers, I intentionally have left it up to you to cut 'paste the link into another browser window, so that you are not led of the reservation.

SEE: Donna Darkwolfs dust-off by Huey gunship over Blouberg Beach

By coincidence the Pilot is a friend of mine from way back in Zim. When I was Flight Lieutenant in the Army Airmobil group, he was a Captain in the Rhodesian Air Force SEVEN Squadron.

Another of these serendipitous coincidences surrounding Donna's dust-off.
You'll discover...

To prevent robot spam, there is no link>