This is death. This is the heartbreak that inevitably comes for all of us when we open our hearts to receive love from another sentient being. From someone we showered with affection from the moment we first met. From someone who shared so much of our joys, sorrows, and laughter, and was ever supportive of us, unconditionally. From someone who we will miss with every fibre of our being from this moment on.
The boundary established in Bill C-14 for reasonable foreseeability of natural death will serve as an essential safeguard to protect vulnerable persons from being induced to commit suicide through the system. From our perspective, anyone who is not dying, but who is nonetheless seeking death, is by definition vulnerable.
Canadians might be surprised to learn that many health and social services widely available in the community are not available in most of Canada's correctional facilities -- this needs to change. We are missing a critical window of opportunity to reframe the period of incarceration as a time to help people improve their health and well-being before returning to our communities.
My daughter saved my life. In the doctor's office for her sore throat, she urged me to have our physician look at my mole. The mole I had had on my hip all my life, the mole that had changed colour and shape over the course of six months, the mole that I would quickly learn had mutated into stage 3b melanoma.
My baby, my long awaited precious gift from heaven, was being taken from me -- as was my dream of being a mom to twins. As cold as it may seem, I was heartbroken about the loss of my dream too. I was devastated over the fact that my son would never know his twin and never find what could have been a beautiful relationship.
I have no patience. I'm snippy, rude and have a short fuse. I think my kids' behaviour is atrocious. Is this because I am newly widowed and stressed out or am I just another mom dealing with kids? I don't know the line between what is normal and what is a result of our grief? I am confused, frustrated and feel like a failure as a parent.
I think we do all women a disservice when we don't challenge the "Disneyfication" of our reproductive experience. Pregnancy is glorified as transcendent despite its many dark elements. Birth is similarly idealized. But miscarriages resist beatification; at best, they are an extremely efficient expulsion of expired reproductive material by one's own body.
It's paradoxical that people in Kerala mourn and light candles after elephants die; it seems like a superficial display of compassion. If they genuinely loved elephants they would revere and respect the elephants when they are alive, and stop exploiting them in festivals and temples under the guise of culture and religion.