David Goodall has departed for Switzerland to end his life.

Dr David Goodall's life has been one of teaching, learning and discovery. Now the 104-year-old academic has departed on the last journey he will ever make.

As a group of family and friends gathers on a busy Wednesday afternoon in the departure hall of Perth Airport, it could be mistaken for just your regular farewell.

The group clusters around a frail-looking man in a wheelchair, smiling, sharing a joke and a hug, as he prepares to board his flight.

But at this farewell, there will be no coming home. David Goodall is going to die.

At the age of 104, and with a body that refuses to give up, he has made the decision to travel to Switzerland to end a life he says isn't worth living any more.

Dr Goodall is a respected academic, father, grandfather and great-grandfather, poet, actor and passionate campaigner.

In 2016 he was awarded a Member of the Order of Australia (AM) for significant service to science as an academic, researcher and author in the area of plant ecology and natural resources management.

He continued his university work past the age of 100, until his lifestyle was dramatically changed at the age of 103 by a fall at his one-bedroom Perth flat earlier this year.

He wasn't hurt, but he didn't have the strength to pull himself up from the ground and his calls for help went unanswered.

He spent two days on the floor until he was found by his cleaner and taken to hospital, where doctors ordered him to stop using public transport or even cross the road by himself.

"They found one or two minor wounds and put patches on those, there was basically nothing wrong," he says.

"But I was considered incapable of looking after myself. And it upset me greatly being constrained."

With his work taken away and most of his friends now dead, Dr Goodall felt he had nothing left to give.

It was then that he started to seriously consider how he could end his life.

"My life is no longer much worth living," he says. "It's difficult to see any advantages.

"Even up to the age of 90 I was enjoying life, but not now.

"It has passed me by and I have done the best I can with it."

His greatest fear was that he would try to take his own life and fail, causing him to be hospitalised again and ultimately forced into a home.

He contacted euthanasia advocacy group Exit International, where he has been a member for 20 years, and with its support, work began to fast-track an application to a Swiss clinic that facilitates assisted suicide.

But his was never going to be a private decision.

On his 104th birthday last month, Dr Goodall used the media attention to declare there was nothing to celebrate in getting older and instead used the occasion to speak out for voluntary euthanasia.

"Once one is past the stage of middle life, one has paid back to society the debts that have been paid out," Dr Goodall said at the time.

"One should be free to use the rest of his life as one chooses.

"If one chooses to kill oneself then that's fair enough. I don't think anyone else should interfere."

A life of fighting, right to the end

Dr Goodall has a history of fighting for his rights.

In 2016, at age 102, the university where he served as an honorary professor ordered he vacate his office, deeming his frailty a safety risk to himself.

He challenged the decision, and won in a story that made international headlines.

But the fuss was lost on him. He's never owned a television and his failing eyesight prevented him from reading the news articles online.

That same year, he took a trip to the Abrolhos Islands, 60 kilometres off the West Australian coast, with his daughter and a naturalist group to explore the deserted islands looking for wildlife.

It was a trip down memory lane — he had first published research about the crayfish pots in the area in the 1960s.

The following year, at 103, he travelled by gyrocopter to the remote Kimberley station of Kachana, near Kununurra in the far north of Western Australia, to visit a sustainable cattle station.

While his movement was limited, he was able to return to the field thanks to a tractor fashioned into a chauffeur service.

It capped a life spent dedicated to science and learning, in a career that has spanned 75 years and has produced more than 100 research papers.

And it is this version of Dr Goodall that he wants everyone — particularly his family — to remember.

"If they remember me in possession of my senses, but only in part, that would be good," he says.

"I would prefer them to remember me as fully competent, but I can't hope that, partly because my eyesight is poor."

A 'hard, beautiful' decision

Dr Goodall remains stoic and matter-of-fact about his situation, and his family's support of his decision is unquestioning.

In the home of his daughter, Karen Goodall-Smith, the closeness of the family is evident. Her athletic young sons present a striking contrast to their frail grandfather as the family talks on the couch, and sits around the piano playing music together.

But the atmosphere of love and support is tempered by a growing sense of the inevitability of his decision.

"I've been having quite a few ups and downs," Ms Goodall-Smith admits. "The closer that it gets, it's been quite difficult.

"[But] I still completely support David in what he wants to do.

"Almost all of his friends have said: 'I'm going to be really sad. But I get it. And I understand. And I support him.'"

Ms Goodall-Smith says the way her father is choosing his death encapsulates his approach to his life.

"He blows me away. His work ethic, his attitude, his determination, his independence," she says.

"He's had a really good life, we've had lots of good times together and he's going out with dignity and respect.

"It's hard, but it's also beautiful in some ways.

"And he's made the decision himself. No one has taken it away from him."

His grandsons also support the decision.

"We all have a lot of respect for him," Chris Goodall says.

"He's an incredible man, he's done a lot with his life, he's devoted his life to educating others and he's been there for all of us grandkids and his family.

"It's going to be hard to say goodbye, obviously, but knowing that it's his choice and knowing that's what he wants makes it a lot easier.

"To see him go through that suffering period, and wanting to move on and not have that opportunity, would be a lot more difficult to endure.

"To say goodbye in the way that we get to — we're very blessed that he's able to do this in the way that he wants."

A farewell tour for a born performer

Ahead of his trip, the avid actor and poet performed a farewell tour of sorts, meeting with friends and family for the last time.

It's the final act of a man who has spent his life combining the incisive reasoning of his scientific mind with the need to creatively express the human condition through the arts.

How he choses to meet his fate is no different.

His poetry group, Well Versed, recently held a final afternoon tea in his honour, where he performed his favourite poem, Tarantella by Hilaire Belloc.

"Never more;

Miranda, never more.

Only the high peaks hoar:

"And Aragon a torrent at the door.

No sound

In the walls of the halls where falls

The tread

Of the feet of the dead to the ground

"No sound: only the boom

Of the far waterfall like doom."

His friend and fellow poet, Pat Stroud, says Dr Goodall is highly regarded in Perth's arts community and his loss will be deeply felt.

"I have every respect for his decision. I am very saddened by it and I know a lot of people are.

"We shall miss him greatly."

No fear, no sadness, no regret

Dr Goodall plans to visit family in Bordeaux, France, before travelling to Switzerland next week for his appointment to end his life.

He doesn't fear it, nor is he sad about it.

"There's no reason why it should be a sad occasion," he says.

"I'm happy with this way of ending things.

"I would like it to be easier than it is. But I am happy that I should be able to leave this life. Even if it means going to Switzerland to do so.

"I'd like to thank people for listening to me and hope that my life may have been helpful to them, at least in its final stages."

The final call

Under the bright fluorescent lights of Perth Airport, as Dr Goodall is wheeled to the departure gate, the symbolism of the moment is lost on no one.

David Goodall's family farewell him at the departure gate at Perth Airport.

Having booked business-class flights, he would have been able to wait in the business departure lounge. But he refuses, opting to sit at a cafe with his family and friends.

And then the boarding call sounds.

"Is this where I say goodbye?" he says, as an official asks for his boarding pass.

One-by-one his family and friends give him a final hug.

And then, with a little wave, he is wheeled off.

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