On my 44th birthday, I experienced something most people never will: I died, by my own choice.
After years of battling a degenerative neurological condition that left me in relentless pain and robbed me of my independence, I decided to end my life through medically assisted dying. I was surrounded by my closest family, who held my hands as I drifted away.
It wasn't a decision I made lightly. The process involved months of counseling, medical evaluations, and soul-searching. But on that day, I felt a profound sense of peace. The music I loved played softly in the background, the sunlight streamed through the window, and I was ready.
When I "died," it was not darkness or void that greeted me, but a feeling of deep, warm stillness. I was clinically dead for several minutes before being revived—a step in the legal protocol for assisted dying in my jurisdiction, ensuring I was of sound mind until the final moment.
Waking up again was disorienting, but I felt no regret. Instead, I was filled with gratitude for the time I had and the choice I was given. My story is not about glorifying death, but about honoring the right to a dignified end.
Since then, I've become an advocate for end-of-life choice. Many people fear death, but I've learned that facing it on your own terms can be liberating. The experience reshaped my view of life itself: every moment is precious, and autonomy, even in dying, is worth fighting for.