Choosing the End, Embracing the Now - My MAiD Story

Editor’s Note: We are deeply grateful to our community member for their courage in sharing such an honest, personal and moving reflection. Stories like this remind us of the humanity at the heart of Medical Assistance in Dying - the love, loss, choice and meaning that shape each person’s path. By speaking openly about their experience, they help break down stigma and create space for others to feel seen, understood and less alone. Thank you for trusting us with your story.

People always ask when I knew.

They want to know the exact moment I made the decision to pursue MAiD. But the truth is, it wasn’t one moment. It was a thousand tiny ones, stacked quietly on top of each other, until suddenly, the weight of it all was impossible to ignore.

There was one morning, though, that stands out. I was sitting at the kitchen table, still in my pyjamas, staring at a half-drunk cup of cold coffee. The sun was coming through the window. My partner was upstairs sleeping. And for the first time in a long time, the house was still.

I had just finished calling the home care coordinator, then the pharmacy, then the palliative team. My energy was gone before the day had even started. My pain was already flaring, and my hands felt like they didn’t belong to me. I looked around the room, at all the pieces of my life - framed photos, dusty books, the chipped mug I always use - and I thought, I’m done waiting for my body to catch up with what my heart already knows. I’m ready.

That was the moment it all changed.

I didn’t come to the decision to pursue MAiD lightly. I don’t think anyone does. It took months of sitting with the idea - talking it over with my partner, my doctor, my therapist. Crying through some of those conversations. Feeling guilty in others. Wondering if I was selfish. Wondering if I was brave.

People think choosing MAiD means giving up. But for me, it’s been the opposite. It’s been a way to reclaim something. To bring a little control and dignity back into a situation where so much has been taken from me. My illness has been slowly erasing who I was. I’ve grieved the loss of mobility, of freedom, of identity. I’ve watched my world shrink. I’ve become a different version of myself. One I never asked for and one I’ve worked hard to love, even on the worst days.

But I’m tired. And I want the end of my life to reflect the way I’ve tried to live it: with intention, honesty and care.

Since I was approved, there’s been a strange kind of peace. Not always. Some days are still heavy. Some days I feel sadder than I can put into words. But underneath it all, there’s this deep, steady knowing that I’ve made the right choice for me.

I’ve been spending time doing what I can. I'm listening to my favourite music, watching old movies, sitting with friends, telling stories. We’ve had some beautiful conversations. We’ve made space for laughter and tears. I’ve written letters. I’ve said the things that matter.

There’s a kind of beauty in being able to prepare.

I won’t pretend it’s easy. It’s not. Saying goodbye never is. But it feels… right. I don’t want my death to be something that just happens to me. I want to be part of it. I want to leave this world gently, with love around me, on my terms.

I won’t get more time, but I’ve made peace with that. What I do get is the chance to choose how my story ends.

And that, to me, is everything.

- Submitted by a Bridge C-14 Community Member

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If this reflection resonates with you, we invite you to share your own experiences. Your story could help others feel less alone in their journey. If you're interested in contributing, please reach out to info@bridgec14.org - we’d love to hear from you.