Booth Gardner is pushing himself hard these days, much as he has most of his life.

Twice a week or so, he’s making speeches on behalf of Initiative 1000, the so-called “death with dignity” measure that would allow a terminally ill person to take a lethal dose of narcotics to end his or her life. He’s raising money for the cause — and quite successfully: The campaign already has more than $800,000 in its coffers. He is, in effect, the face of what could likely become one of the most controversial ballot measures in recent state history.

But on this particular day — a cloudy Sunday afternoon at his home in Burton — he apologized frequently for his evident exhaustion. He had spent Friday and Saturday at the University of Washington’s alumnus gathering, campaigning on behalf of the measure.

“It was the hardest weekend I’ve ever had,” he said.

Why is he doing it? Why doesn’t he embrace retirement like so many others in their 70s?

“Because I committed to it, and when I commit to something I try to see it through,” he answered.

Later in the interview, however, he acknowledged that he sometimes questions his unrelenting drive, a drive that pushes him even now, at age 72 and in his 18th year of battling Parkinson’s disease.

“I’m in a war between trying to be busy and productive and my judgment that ‘you deserve to rest. You’ve done well,’” he said. “I’d like to buy a big truck … and work my way south playing golf.”

Playing golf he’s not.

Gardner, a former two-term Democratic governor and a summertime resident of Vashon, has called his fight on behalf of Initiative 1000 his “final campaign.”

Modeled after a decade-old law in Oregon, the measure would allow a person with a terminal illness to obtain a lethal dose of narcotics after at least two doctors have deteremined that her or she has no more than six months left to live; the doctors would also need to declare that the person is competent to make the decision and not suffering from depression or mental illess.

The patient would then be given a prescription, to be filled and taken — or not — whenever he or she decided the moment had come to end his or her life.

The campaign is in the signature-gathering stage, using both volunteer and paid signature-gatherers. Organizers need 225,000 valid signatures by July 4 to qualify for the November ballot. Christian Sinderman, spokesman for the campaign, said organizers are attempting to garner a little more than 300,000 signatures.

So far, the other side, calling itself Coalition Against Assisted Suicide, has yet to build much of a war chest. But if battles in other parts of the country are any indication, a highly organized opposition — comprised in part by Catholic leaders, disability rights activists, right-to-life activists, doctors and medical organizations — will soon be in place.

Versions of the measure — called “physician-assisted suicide” by its opponents — have been attempted in 25 others states besides Washington, defeated everywhere but in Oregon. It was even attempted in this state once before, in 1991, when it was defeated 54 to 46 percent.

Those who oppose assisted suicide say that even with safety measures in place, such a law could work against women and minorities, people who might easily see themselves as a burden on others or feel pressure to end their lives. They point to people who were told they had only six months left to live then went on to live several more years; with such a law in place, they may have ended their lives prematurely. Others say the law would tear at the moral fabric of civic life, allowing government to step in and sanction a kind of killing.

Providence Hospice of Seattle, which provides Vashon’s only hospice service, is on record opposing the measure. Rob Luck, the co-interim director of Providence Hospice, said his organization opposes the measure because it takes energy and focus away from hospice care, which he believes can do much to ease the pain, fear and isolation of dying.

“Hospice care is all about death with dignity,” he said. “And if we had more resources and there was more awareness, we could reach more people.”

Gardner sees it differently.

To him, Oregon — where only 300 people have opted to use the law to end their lives in the 10 years since it went into effect — is answer enough to the concerns that a measure such as Initiative 1000 could open a Pandora’s Box of social ills.

And while his is a political crusade, it’s also a highly personal one.

When he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1992, after two successful terms as governor and still in the prime of his political life, he began to confront his own mortality and to think about the disease that was slowly but surely debilitating him.

“Everything I then learned about death is that you lose control,” he said. “Somewhere toward the end, others take over decision-making. And I didn’t want that. I wanted to be in control of my life.”

Ironically, the measure as it’s currently written would not be one Gardner could take advantage of. While Parkinson’s is a debilitating disease, it’s not considered a terminal one.

“That’s going to change,” he said, referring to the fact that he would like to see the medical establishment redefine Parkinson’s, a disease that, in its advanced stages, can make it impossible for someone to swallow, talk or even move.

What Gardner wants, he said, is choice — the ability to decide it’s time to peacefully end his life, or to soldier on if he finds the inner will and strength to do so. He wants a lethal dose of barbiturates at his bedside — to take, or not to take.

“As long as I had control, I’d try to go like most people,” he said. “It’s not just need you’re leaving by the bedside. It’s also hope.”

Gardner sat in the living of his Vashon home as he talked, sunk deep into the cushions of a floral-print couch. Though he was clear and coherent at all times, he spoke slowly and sometimes in a barely audible whisper, noting that his daily regimen of medications — taken shortly before the interview — had yet to kick in. Peter Richardson, an independent filmmaker who’s producing a documentary on Oregon’s law and Washington’s attempt to pass it, stood in a corner, quietly filming.

Gardner’s home is among the more modest ones in Burton, a split-level that shows little sign of landscaping or other attention; and technically, it’s not on Governor’s Row, the famous stretch of beachfront cottages on Quartermaster Harbor.

His is perched above it, among the firs and madrones, looking down on the weathered but well-kept homes that are part of his extended estate. Asked why he summers here, rather than at the water’s edge, he noted that visitors often ask him that. Walking slowly towards the kitchen window, he leaned against the counter and took in the view — Governor’s Row and Quartermaster Harbor framed by the trees.

“I’ve been by the water all my life. I’ve got as much of a view as I like,” he said.

With a smile, he added that the sweep of land that separates his house from those where his two children summer is steep enough to keep his many relatives at bay.

“There’s more peace and quiet here,” he said.

A long article in the New York Times Sunday magazine last December probed deep into Gardner’s personal life and his sometimes frayed relationship with his two children, particularly his son, Doug, a born-again Christian who ardently opposes assisted suicide. The article garnered much attention here, providing grist for political blogs and newspaper columns. Joel Connelly, a long-time Seattle Post-Intelligencer columnist and keen political observer, noted that the New York Times “revealed what sympathetic local news stories have not disclosed” — the dissension within his own family over the issue.

Gardner’s aide, in setting up the interview, asked that family matters be kept off limits, a request The Beachcomber honored. But Gardner, on his own, mentioned his two children from time to time, noting that — despite their differences on the issue — his life and theirs are intertwined these days.

He used to live in his Burton home full-time, until about three years ago, when his children insisted that he move closer to medical facilities, his doctor and them, he said. He now lives in a Tacoma condominium most of the year, minutes from his son and daughter.

Noting that his mother died in a plane crash when he was 14, Gardner said he considers himself lucky for the years he’s had with his now-adult children. Since retiring from politics, he said, he’s been able to spend more time with his children and grandchildren, and his family, he added, is “closer that it has been.”

But mostly, Gardner discussed the initiative that is now center stage in his life, and, speaking like the savvy politician that he is, he discussed why he thinks the measure this time will win at the polls.

When the state attempted a similar measure, Jack Kevorkian — “Dr. Death” — was making headlines for his controversial and ultimately illegal work assisting some 100 people in ending their lives. The political landscape, in large part because of Oregon’s record with the law, is very different today, he said. What’s more, Gardner noted, he’s pulled together some of the state’s best political strategists to run the campaign, including Sinderman and Blair Butterworth, both well-known Democratic consultants.

A man of wealth and political connections, Gardner acknowledged that a big part of his role in the campaign is fundraising, and his friends, he added, have been generous. He, too, has given considerably to the effort. So far, according to campaign finance records, he’s contributed $120,000 to the campaign, making him the largest single donor.

He’s also speaking frequently on the measure, attending Rotary Clubs and other civic organizations. Last month, he gave his first talk on Vashon, speaking to the Unitarian Fellowship in Burton.

He says he’s buoyed by the reception he gets when he’s on the stump. At a banquet at the UW just the night before, he said, “I was stunned by the number of people who come up and said, ‘Hang in there.’”

But shortly before excusing himself to take a nap and readying himself for a second interview that day, he also said the campaign is taking a toll.

“My health is unusually good,” he said. “But I’m pushing myself pretty hard.”