My days as an official pro-life lobbyist are over. I’m back to being what I was when my kids were little and I dragged them to hearings: a state resident of no particular distinction, come to register my opinion at the State House.

Yesterday was one of those days. Assisted suicide, already enacted into law in other states under various euphemisms, is subject of legislation in Concord this year.

The very first bill I ever testified on, back in 1988 or ’89, was an end-of-life policy bill. Living wills, as I recall. No danger, said the sponsors, allaying concerns from the likes of me. This is about choice, not death. There’s no such thing as a slippery slope.

And here we are.

This week, I wasn’t alone as I came to stand outside the hearing room as the “end-of-life options” bill had its hearing. There are coalitions forming now that I couldn’t dream of 35 years ago.

I was with people with deep respect for the value of human life, from both faith-based and secular perspectives. The Diocese of Manchester’s public policy director was right there where he needed to be. There were conventional pro-lifers, and some unconventional ones who would probably flee in horror from a “pro-life” label.

I was with people who took it personally to think that the state might oppose suicide for some groups but support it for others. I was with longtime advocates for the rights of people with disabilities, who know how appealing shortcuts can be within our health care system. The idea of third-party payors seeing suicide as medical treatment helped motivate attendance.

There were people simply offended by the language of the bill. It would prohibit the use of the word “suicide” on a death certificate for someone exercising that “end-of-life option.” Excuse me, but the intentional taking of one’s own life is suicide, and providing the pills to do it is assisting the suicide. Own it, for heaven’s sake.

Why didn’t I testify? Because nearly every senator on the committee had heard from me before, some of them many times through the years. There’s a tendency to see a familiar face and think she’s just saying the usual stuff. I wanted to leave the spoken testimony to people the senators didn’t know. I wanted the legislators to sit up and take notice of the people who don’t normally come to Concord. I didn’t mind standing in the hall to free up a seat in the hearing room.

There were advocates for the bill present, of course. But they, like me, have to come to terms with the coalitions that didn’t exist before assisted suicide became a matter of public policy. Such coalitions can drive high turnout.

Did the senators really hear the people who came to the hearing? We’ll see. The vote is pending. I know this subject – so much more than a mere “issue” – won’t go away. The intense anguish of seeing a loved one suffer will always make us reach for a solution. That’s something to be faced by each of us who knows that the direct intentional induced termination of human life is not the way.

I ended the day with great hope. When I go to a hearing and see people I’ve never met before doing a better job than I ever could in making a point, I’m grateful. When I see people who went to a great deal of trouble to come to a hearing so we can support each other, I want to cheer. When I see familiar allies, I feel deep respect for their perseverance.

I love my state, with its mammoth legislature (400 reps, 24 senators) and wide-open State House. Those legislators get paid $100 a year, by the way, which helps squelch any incipient notions of superiority. I’m convinced there’s no other hall of government in the country so welcoming to ordinary citizens with something to say.

So I have no excuses. Resisting an assisted suicide policy is up to me. Better yet, as I saw that the hearing filled with fresh faces and new voices, it’s up to us.