In a candid and deeply moving webinar hosted by the Positive Aging Community, Daniel Zimberoff shared the intimate story behind his memoir Wingman. A former U.S. Navy Top Gun pilot, Zimberoff never expected to write a book—until his father, facing the relentless progression of Parkinson’s disease, turned to him on the eve of his medically assisted death in Switzerland and said, “Danny, tell the story. You’re in charge of the story. Give others the opportunity I had.” Wingman: Escorting My Father To A Death With Dignity

That request became the catalyst for a memoir that is equal parts love letter, travelogue, and urgent call for open conversations about end-of-life choice.

A Decade-Long Battle with Parkinson’s

Zimberoff’s father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s approximately 12 years before his death at age 87. A lifelong athlete and avid tennis player, he first noticed the loss of dexterity and dismissed it as “just old age.” As symptoms worsened—tremors, sleep disruption, cognitive changes, and eventually reliance on a walker—the disease eroded the vibrant life he had known.

He had long expressed a core fear: “I don’t fear death. I fear dying.” He did not want to burden his three children with watching him suffer, nor did he want to endure a life stripped of joy and independence. Roughly 10 years after diagnosis, when the disease began to profoundly affect both body and personality, he quietly began the rigorous process of arranging a medically assisted death through a Swiss organization called Pegasus.

“He had already done all the legwork,” Zimberoff recalled. “He was a very independent person—an attorney and accountant—and when he made a decision, it was made.”

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Family Support

The family’s journey was far from linear. Zimberoff and his sisters experienced waves of acceptance, resistance, grief, and love. There were moments Zimberoff wanted simply to be a “loving, dutiful son,” and others when he wished his father would “fight more.” Two days before the end, his father shakily wrote, “I love life,” acknowledging grandchildren and family while affirming that his suffering had become unbearable.

The title Wingman draws directly from Zimberoff’s military experience. In aviation, the wingman is the pilot who flies alongside the flight lead into unknown and sometimes hostile territory, from takeoff to touchdown. Zimberoff became that wingman—accompanying his father from Chicago to Switzerland, staying through the final evaluations, and holding him in the final moments.

The Final Journey to Switzerland

Once the date was set, everything accelerated. With only seven days’ notice at the height of Europe’s summer travel season, Zimberoff coordinated flights, wheelchair assistance, hotel arrangements, and last-minute logistics while his sister flew in from Italy. In Switzerland, two days of medical and psychiatric evaluations preceded the chosen day.

The process itself was described as seamless and profoundly peaceful. The method used an intravenous medication similar to what is administered before surgery—only in a higher dose. “You just go to sleep, and then it stops your heart in a couple of minutes,” Zimberoff explained. His father died in the arms of his son, daughter, and son-in-law.

“It was incredibly peaceful,” he said. “He died in peace and love.”

Broader Conversation: Options, Autonomy, and Breaking the Taboo

Michelle Witte, Executive Director of Final Exit Network, joined the discussion and provided important context. In the United States, medical aid in dying (MAID) is legal in 14 jurisdictions (including the District of Columbia), but strict criteria apply—typically a terminal prognosis of six months or less and self-administration of the medication. Only about 12,000–13,000 people have used it over 30 years, roughly one per day.