Dignity Denied: When Goodbye Isn't Yours to Choose

It was sometime last August when I came across an article that stayed with me long after I finished reading it. It was written by Luisa Rollenhagen on BuzzFeed, and it told the story of her aunt, Tía Bebi - an independent, fearless woman who faced the final stages of terminal cancer with clarity and conviction.

Despite knowing what was coming and being vocal about what she wanted, she didn’t get the one thing she truly asked for: the right to choose how her life would end.

Tia Bebe's story is a tragic reminder of how someone had to live through the horrors of her terminal cancer and die in a way she explicitly wanted to avoid - broken, in pain, humiliated, and angry - because she didn't get to choose.

She didn’t want to go through the pain, the slow loss of dignity, the feeling of being trapped inside a body that was no longer hers.

But in the end, she had no choice. Tia Bebe passed away angry, exhausted, and stripped of the control she had held onto for so long.

And something about that felt incredibly unfair - not just to her, but to anyone who’s ever had to endure the same.

Why Choice Matters

I won't claim to have read enough literature on assisted dying, but I've always been a believer in making your own choices stripped of any dictates from society as long as you are not hurting anyone, and especially when it comes to something as deeply personal as your own life. I

If someone is already nearing the end, if there’s no more meaningful recovery in sight, and if they’re mentally sound enough to decide what they want, shouldn’t they have the option to say, this is enough?

It’s not about giving up. It’s not about losing hope. It’s about recognizing when hope has taken a different shape -- one that looks more like peace, comfort, and relief than clinging to what little is left of a life filled with pain.

I won't deny that miracles happen, and it's a beautiful thing to hope for, but it's not something that I count on. You either get lucky or you don't, and that's it.

Rage Against the Dying of the Light

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

These immortal lines of Dylan Thomas have always held a special meaning for me because they resonate with everything that I hold true - you fight, you take charge of your life, and you live with your decisions.

However, I also used to think it meant we should fight to the very end, never surrender, never stop pushing back. But as I grow older, I’m beginning to see it differently.

Maybe the rage isn’t always about fighting death itself.

Maybe it’s about fighting for the right to face it on your own terms.

Maybe it’s about refusing to let go of your voice, even when your body is failing you.

Maybe real courage lies in making a decision that most people would be too afraid to face.

Faith, Freedom, and the Fine Line in Between

I understand why assisted dying is such a difficult topic for many people. Religion, culture, and personal beliefs all play a part.

For some, the idea of choosing death is unfathomable. I respect that, and I would never argue against someone’s right to believe in miracles or divine timing.

But in the same way, shouldn’t we respect the rights of those who feel differently? If someone’s faith gives them the strength to endure, that’s valid.

But if someone’s truth leads them to choose a different ending - one without prolonged suffering - that deserves respect too.

For Tía Bebi

I didn’t know her, but her story reminded me of something I think many of us quietly hope for -- that when the time comes, we’ll be able to face it with clarity, with dignity, and with choice.

I wish she’d had that.

I wish more people did.

Wherever she is now, I hope she’s free - free from the pain, the waiting, and the helplessness.

And I hope that sharing her story helps others understand that wanting a say in how your life ends doesn’t mean you’re giving up. It means you’re taking back the little control you have left and turning it into something meaningful.

Rest easy, Tía. You deserved better.