From the mother of Brittany Maynard comes an endearing memoir honoring the young woman who made the decision to travel to Oregon and end her life on her own terms after a defeating battle with a cancerous brain tumor. Written by Deborah Ziegler, the mother of Brittany Maynard—a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a terminal brain tumor—this touching and beautiful memoir captures and celebrates her daughter’s spirit and the mostly untold story of Brittany's last year of life as she chose her right to die with dignity, a journey that inspired millions. In this poignant, powerful book, Deborah Ziegler makes good on the promise she made to her only child: that she would honor her daughter and carry forward her legacy by sharing their story and offering hope, empowerment, and inspiration to the growing tens of millions of people who are struggling with end-of-life issues. "Brittany’s story…will have a ready audience, and Deborah’s frank account of their struggles will be comforting to others facing this difficult decision" ( Booklist ). "When 29-year-old Brittany is diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, she thinks almost immediately about ending her life with dignity . . . In this painfully honest memoir, Deborah, Brittany's mother, records the surgeries, treatments, and soul-searching that went into honoring Brittany's path . . . Brittany's story . . . will have a ready audience, and Deborah's frank account of their struggles will be comforting to others facing this difficult decision." ― Booklist (starred review) "A graceful and touching gift of love and posthumous devotion from mother to daughter." ― Kirkus Reviews "Heart-wrenching." ― Publishers Weekly "Compassionately truthful and exceptionally well written. I think this will be a best seller that will move our cause forward." -- George Eighmey, JD, President of Death with Dignity Deborah Ziegler was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico on July 18, 1956. She currently lives in California with her husband, Gary, and two cavipoos named Bogie and Bacall. Wild and Precious Life 1 Foreboding December 31, 2013—January 1, 2014 The worst moments in life are heralded by small observations. — Andy Weir, The Martian The first step in leaving the world I formerly inhabited was more like a jarring shove. Not a tiny toe-out-the-door kind of move. Instead, I was cruelly pushed into a new life. Late New Year’s Eve of 2013, when Brittany should have been dining and dancing, my son-in-law called me from an ambulance. Dan said that Brittany had a very bad headache. They had gone to a hospital, where a CT scan revealed a shadow on her brain. Since the hospital didn’t have an MRI, they were now heading to a larger one that had the proper equipment. “Should I try to get on a flight tonight? I’m not sure there are any middle-of-the-night flights to Oakland.” Dan responded that she’d have to do admittance tests and take the MRI, so tomorrow morning would be fine. He put my daughter on the phone. “Momma, my head hurts so bad,” Britt said, her voice thick and slurred from the effects of pain medication. “They took a CT scan and found a shadow on my brain. It might be a brain tumor.” My heart dropped as my mind refused to accept this possibility. “Don’t jump there, darling. Don’t draw any premature conclusions. Baby, I’m coming. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Gary booked my airline ticket as I haphazardly threw clothes into a suitcase. “Follow your own advice,” Gary said. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’ll make arrangements for someone to check on your father and stay with the dogs. Then I’ll come up later.” He held me by the shoulders. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You’ll need to arrive rested.” As I flew to Oakland from San Diego the next morning, I wondered what might have created a shadow on Brittany’s brain. My daughter with a brain tumor? It just wasn’t possible. Brittany had always been a healthy, active child. Over five feet nine, she positively exuded strength and vigor. As I looked out the plane’s window at the cloudless sky, images clicked through my mind like a silent slide show: Three years old. Feet up on the dash of her toy ride-on car, screaming in delight. “Faster, Momma, faster!” Preschool. Curly hair hiding her face, dangling upside down on the monkey bars. “Look at me! Momma, look at me!” First grade. Bent over homework, Britt printing her letters over and over until she developed a pressure bump from bearing down on her fat beginner pencil. Elementary school. Green eyes gleaming, Britt as Princess Jasmine sang her solo parts as clear as a bell. Back and forth with the boy playing Aladdin, she fearlessly belted out lyrics about taking a free-spirited flight through a glittering sky. Trilling perfectly on key, she stretched out her arms to the beaming audience. How prophetic this song about seeing amazing sights would be, although Britt would never need an Aladdin to escort her anywhere. Preteens. Tumbling, cheering, and ice ska