One evening last spring, my husband, Nick, took a picture of our friend Dovie, grinning widely and holding up a copy of the New York Post. Half of the page he held up was occupied by the passionate case Dovie had made against New York’s new assisted suicide bill.
“The logic of assisted suicide leads inevitably to the conclusion that those with doctor-approved expiration dates are living lives not worth living,” Dovie wrote. (The article, first published by UnHerd, was also reprinted in The Free Press.) Dovie’s life—which he often experienced as borrowed time—was a rebuke to that idea. He was a much-beloved son, brother, uncle, and friend to many. He also happened to be disabled.
Dovie suffered from a recessive genetic disease called nemaline myopathy, which causes muscle weakness. His condition—which impacted every aspect of his life—left him reliant on a motorized wheelchair to get around and a portable ventilator to help him breathe. In his article, he described what had happened several months earlier, when his ventilator hose became accidentally disconnected: He was found “not breathing, and with no pulse” by a police officer and rushed to the emergency room for life-saving treatment.
The same evening that Nick gave Dovie a copy of his Post article, Dovie asked him to take video instructions of what to do in the event that his ventilator became disconnected again, so Dovie could share them with others. The next night, his worst fear came to pass. But this time, help did not come quickly enough. On May 18, 2025, after suffering severe hypoxia, Dovie slipped into a coma, which lasted 16 months and from which he never recovered. He died on September 11. He was 35 years old.
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