So Sir Terry Pratchett is going to kill himself. Maybe. No, really.
And you know what? I understand. I can't blame him. He's got early onset Alzheimer's, for all of you who live under rocks. And for those of you who don't know what that means, it means his mind is going and he'd eventually end up drooling and unable to feed himself, nevermind be able to think and compile the masterful fantasy-comedies he's been writing for years.
A mind is a terrible thing to waste, or to see waste away. So when it's all said and done, I can't blame the poor guy for wanting to end it when he wants to, before that brilliant mind is swiss cheese. Yes, I understand that there are more variables than just wanting to die, that assisted suicide has a lot of political, social, and moral implications to consider. I'm not saying I advocate it, or that I'm dead-set against it. I'm not here to preach about my own views or whether or not I believe he should do this.
I'm just saying I understand why, and should he choose to do so--and is allowed to do so--I will still respect him. Good luck, Sir.