He made headlines after serving jail time for helping his wife die, then wrote a book about the experience and became a nationally known advocate for assisted suicide.

On June 5, Carpinteria resident George Delury, 74, ended his own life after penning a scathing suicide note to politicians -- sending copies to friends and to this reporter -- detailing his medical problems and the powerlessness he felt over his life.

George Delury, 74, ended his life June 5. Courtesy photo

The bearded and bespectacled Delury was an outgoing man who talked easily and passionately about the right of each person to determine when and how they would die. It was a view he developed after his wife, Myrna Lebov, became ill with multiple sclerosis and died 12 years ago.

In his book, “But What if She Wants to Die?", he recounted the loneliness of the 25 years he spent caring for her, the pain of watching her decline, and grappled openly with whether he made the right decision.

Not only did Delury serve time at Riker's Island for his part in his wife's death, but Lebov's family later sued him successfully in civil court for wrongful death.

The same hurt, confusion and sense of loss has been apparent in Delury’s wake as well. Friends who knew him through his active involvement in the Humanist Society of Santa Barbara and the Unitarian Society were saddened by his death -- but not surprised.

“We had an idea it was going to happen, we just didn’t know when,” said Dick Cousineau, a friend who is helping organize Delury’s memorial service scheduled for Friday at the Unitarian Church.

Delury wrote personal notes and instructions to a few friends, including when to call authorities and who should be notified.

He also left behind a note that described the means of his death: 300 mg of morphine with two Fentayl patches on each side of his neck.

Near his bedside was a copy of the book “Final Exit," a widely-recognized "how-to" book about assisted suicide, and a “Do Not Resuscitate” order for the hospital. Friends, however, said Delury lived for about eight hours after being taken to Cottage Hospital.

He died at 4 a.m. the day after he took the drugs.

Marian Shapiro, a friend of Delury’s through the Humanist Society, said he suffered from emphysema, a swelling of the lungs that causes breathing problems.

“He was afraid he’d get trapped in a place where he wouldn’t have the choice if he wanted to end his life,” she said.

In his letter, Delury talked about his declining health condition: “I have entered on that path of physical decline that leads to death.

“Breathing troubles and a severe drop in energy leave me with a style of life that is not much beyond mere existing.”

He describes his body being “invaded by something foreign, bringing strange discomforts, dull pains in my bones, and pressures in my chest. … If I were even 10 years younger, I might consider alternatives to death. But at age 74, it seems to me that I have lived long enough.”

Born and raised in Nevada, Delury had lived in Carpinteria for about seven years. After earning a master’s degree at Stanford University, he attended Harvard Divinity School and worked as a social worker, and later as an editor for “The World Almanac.”

His wife, Lebov, died in 1995 after Delury served her a toxic mix of painkillers and anti-depressants. He reportedly called the police, told them what happened and was later convicted of second-degree manslaughter. He served six months at Riker’s Island in New York.

His trial made national news in the New York Times and other publications -- coverage that contributed to the public spotlight on the hotly debated issue of assisted suicide. Delury was later interviewed by Stone Phillips, of NBC's Dateline, talk show host Phil Donahue and other national news media personalities and outlets.

The debate still rages, particularly after the case two years ago of Terri Schiavo, who died after a judge granted her husband the right to remove her feeding tube -- amid dramatic protests by thousands across the country who wanted to save her life.

When Delury’s wife died, he moved to the West Coast, and soon found himself in a similar situation: His "second love" -- as he once described her --was dying of kidney failure. He cared for her in the couple's quiet Carpinteria condominium until she died last year.

He spoke publicly to the press and politicians about his personal situation and assisted suicide, urging the passage of a bill in California that would allow physicians to help terminally-ill people die.

The bill, which has not yet passed here, was patterned after a law in Oregon that allows people who are found to be terminally ill and mentally stable to receive lethal doses of medication.

Delury sent his two-page suicide note to groups that were involved in this legislation, including one to the California Medical Association with a cover letter criticizing its opposition to physician-assisted suicide. He also sent copies to legislators and public relations people handling the issue for Compassion & Choices, a group pushing the California legislation.

One of Delury’s friends urged that nothing be published about his death, citing privacy concerns regarding his children and two grandchildren.

However, given Delury's public advocacy stance on this issue, the Santa Barbara Newsroom decided to honor one of his last requests and publish this article about his death, as well as his suicide note.

His daughter, who lives in Studio City, did not return a phone call seeking comment this week. Delury is also survived by a son who lives in Washington, and two sisters.

His friends agree it’s a difficult situation.

However, Shapiro reflected: Though some might have felt Delury’s decision was premature -- in the end -- it was his choice.

“He always felt that if it’s the best thing for you, it’s the best thing for you,” she said. “No one can make that choice but you.”

In addition to his letters, Delury also sent a self-published book called “At Home in the Agon” of his poetry to a few people, including this reporter. His poems cover a wide range of topics from religion, to politics, to aging and the embrace of death.

A poem called “Heresy” reads:

Being a heretic, I am not afraid to die.
I could go out contentedly on a blazing stake
Or vanish like a ball of dust idly swept away.

It is the tortures before death I fear:
The rack that tears the joints,
The hot poker in the gut,
The shame of a returned infancy
Of dirty clothes and crying, helplessness.

Above all, the sack over the head,
Full of confusion and nightmares,
The not-understanding, the forgetting,
And the screaming silence….

But I am a heretic.
I can be my own fiery stake.
I can be a dust mop.