Jill's Mom•Logic on why one young Mom's pain-filled final days hit home.

When I read this week about how Chantal Sebire's request for assisted suicide had the nation of France divided, I couldn't help but sympathize with her three children. The 52-year-old Mom suffered from a unusual and terminal form of cancer that left her both horribly disfigured and also in excruciating pain. It's the excruciating pain part that I can relate to.

When my Mom arrived from San Francisco to be closer to us about five years ago, she was in good health and great spirits, rejuvenated by change and the promise of new beginnings. Though I feared she'd have unrealistic expectations of how much time I'd be able to devote to her, I was thrilled when she found her own way and seemed grateful to join us for Sunday dinners and occasional family outings. Whenever people would ask me how my Mom was doing with this new chapter of her life, I'd say "Surprisingly well!"

But things took a turn for the worse last summer when my Mom got in a car crash with a motorcyclist while leaving her apartment complex. Remarkably, she survived without a single physical injury, just a few cuts from where the windshield shattered. But the motorcyclist wasn't as lucky.  He was seriously injured.  That was the beginning of my Mom's mental health decline.

The next months brought about her rapid physical deterioration, first breaking a few ribs after falling on her back; then a mini stroke leaving her confused and disoriented, finally a fall on the kitchen floor that shattered her hip. She had managed to live her previous 84 years independent and pain-free. Now nothing could alleviate her suffering. Her quality of life was diminishing, and I was crushed to hear her tell her therapist that she just didn't want to continue any more.

Six weeks ago, my Mom's heart stopped beating. For a brief moment, she got her wish. But the medical team resuscitated her and rushed her to the emergency room. By the time I got there, she was in an induced coma, complete with respirator, tubes, IV's...it was exactly the state she'd told me she never wanted to be in. I was enraged that the team at her rehab facility failed to check her "Do Not Resuscitate" form, and instead launched into full code blue mode.

I'll never forget how it felt for my sisters and I to finally disconnect my Mom from life support the next day. We were all by her side for those final hours, and though we went through an entire box of tissues, we felt incredible relief and great gratitude that we could, once and for all, release her from her crippling pain. It saddens me that Chantel's children could never give their Mother this gift.