05/20/2026
The first day I met Anne, she was late.
I sat at a window table of The Cannon with Kari, who was to introduce me when Anne arrived. The first glimpse I had of Anne, she was walking down Cannon Street, slightly hurried as she had forgotten our meeting. Anne was dressed in a style that I would soon attribute only to her. Every piece of clothing she had was colourful and bright, and often homemade by herself or another one of the artists in her life. She seemed to be swathed in multiple fabrics at any given time, but I never saw her without her favourite pearl necklace. Anne was shy at first - and to be honest so was I. I really had no idea what to expect.
I found Welcome Inn Community Centre after attempting to find resources for a patient I spoke to at work. Actually, it was several patients in a short period of time that lead me to look for more options for isolated elderly people. One patient - an older man with kidney failure - spoke to me after he had told his physician he no longer wanted to continue with his dialysis treatments. As a mental health nurse, I was to evaluate his need for a competency assessment. Without dialysis, the man would die. Imminently. It was clear to me very early in the conversation that he understood this. He told me how his life had been, before his wife died 10 years ago. He told me about his job, his children, how he liked to spend time with his late wife. Then, he told me about his life now. 3 out of 7 days a week spent in a dialysis machine. The other 4 days spent sitting in front of a TV. No friends to speak to, no family to visit him. He had told me that if stopping dialysis wouldn’t end his life, he would be pursuing MAID. And so, a short google search and one application later, I’d applied to volunteer with the Senior Visitation Program.
I got to know Anne over the next little while. We spent much time doing something she had longed to do since her husband passed - going for a drive. Anne and I got lost a lot. She usually insisted she knew the route by memory and declined the need for maps, but I was happy to drive down every side street until she found what she was looking for, which was usually a bakery or something else to satisfy her sweet tooth. I quickly learned that Anne was a woman who had lived many lives. She told me about being a young woman in Kansas, and all the trouble she got into with her many (many!) brothers and sisters. She moved across the United States, travelled for years with her husband who was working as an actor, and eventually settled in Canada. “Settled” being a strong word, as she also travelled her way through our country to sing about the Great Lakes and the importance of nature and our earth with a group of like-minded individuals. It can only be described as an honour to be the recipient of stories from a life well-lived.
Anne was a person who did what she wanted, when she wanted. The freedom of choice was important to her. While most people have free will, Anne used her free will to the fullest extent.
Until she was prevented from doing so.
Several months into getting to know Anne, I sat down for breakfast with her at our usual table at The Cannon. Her eyes wide, pupils constricted, she launched into a rapid speech about how she was receiving letters from her late husband in the mail. She went on to serenade me (and the rest of the café) with one of her favourite songs. After she shared with me that she had stopped taking her medication a few months ago, I knew I needed to make the difficult decision to contact someone to help Anne.
I am not going to share what else Anne said and did during this time in her life, out of respect for her privacy and memory. In short, Anne appeared to be suffering from mania.
As a mental health nurse myself, I thankfully knew how to get her to the hospital, even when it became apparent that Anne did not want to go. When the police knocked on her door, she told me it was usually Howard, her late husband, who ensured she got the treatment she needed. Anne eventually agreed to visit the psychiatric emergency department, where she was admitted to the hospital.
I was nervous to visit Anne in the hospital. I did not know how my presence would be received. After all, I had called the first responders the day she was admitted to hospital. I was afraid she would no longer want to continue our friendship.
This was selfish of me. I knew I needed to give Anne the opportunity to either accept or reject my friendship, and she thankfully accepted me with open arms. I visited her in hospital and, after she was discharged, we picked up where we left off.
But I knew Anne was tired - tired from the cancer invading her body, tired of being in and out of hospital. She was ready to rest. She never resumed her cancer treatment after being discharged from the hospital and, when she told me she wanted to pursue MAID, I was not surprised. She was excited to be reunited with her husband, ready to spend eternity with him in their paradise.
When she invited me to her final “tea party”, I was honoured. Anne was a woman who had lived to the fullest, who had met and touched the lives of so many people, and I felt grateful she considered me a friend. Although it was a complicated feeling, I felt happy for her.
On February 13th, 2026, Anne passed away. She was so happy the day she died. Unable to bear her own weight, myself and three of her friends lifted her in a chair and carried
down her stairs. She asked me to anoint her before her passing, which I did with the essence of jasmine she gave me. People came from all over Canada to sit with Anne, one last time. After a tearful rendition of “You Are My Sunshine”, Anne asked why everyone was crying during such a joyful song. Everyone present was happy for Anne to depart on her next adventure, but was equally sad to lose a friend. Anne was ready to go.
She passed in her living room, exactly how she wanted. As the MAID team pushed the last of the medication through her IV, Anne took her last breath, and the sun shone through the window behind her. The sun shining through her blinds made the shape of wings just above her head, and she was gone.
Since her death, I think about Anne all the time. I see her in the cherry blossom trees she loved, in every sweet treat and every jasmine scented incense. Not in grief, but in appreciation and honour. Honour that this woman accepted me into her life, honour that she trusted me with her health, and honour to have simply known her.
I think back to the man with kidney failure. I think about his decision, why he made the choice to end his life. I think about how this interaction lead me to Anne, and I feel grateful.
So thank you, to the universe, to Welcome Inn, to all the choices I have made that lead me to Anne, for now I cannot imagine ever not having known her.
Last year, 163 seniors were visited by our staff and volunteers on a regular basis. Every story would be worth reading, if only they were written down.
