"To my friends: My work is done. Why wait?"

I wonder if George Eastman found what he wanted. These past few weeks, I've been composing a suicide note. ...no, not for myself. *smiles gently* A note for culture, for civilization... for civility as a whole. If it had the chance to pass gracefully from us, instead of this slow, lingering death it now endures, what would it say? If common sense, familial affection, or honour had had voice before their demise, would they have voiced a complaint? Would they have summoned their last strength to protest the injustice forced upon them through the calloused nature of this self-satisfied world? Or being too full of sense, gentleness, and honour... would they have realized that no one would hear them anyway, and that it would be better just to save themselves the mockery and derision that a final instruction would garner? I'm not so sure, and in any case, it's a topic that's not generally discussed. (ergo, it should be, since it's not cliched yet :)
It would start with an expression of emptyness. Written simply, no long words, and no bribe attempts or blubbering. It would also be calm, written in a way that showed that they knew how final, and inevitable this step would be. No appology would be made, but also no accusation laid for the shameful way they'd been treated in life. Finished with a final expression of care, that those who remain might make a good way for themselves, and even possibly remember them fondly from time to time. Then with the last penstroke, allow the wind to blow away the last remnants of their already frail features. Ah yes, a fitting death for invaluable virtues. May they find peace at long last.