I would love to die in my sleep, perhaps (mostly) unaware that I am dying, at the ripe old age of one hundred. The weeks leading up to my death would be rose tinted with extensive family time, quiet gardening activities perhaps, light, healthy tasty meals and dappled sunlight on the veranda.
I don’t like gardening and I don’t have a veranda but maybe I will when I’m one hundred..
But what if I’m diagnosed with a terminal illness before then? Cancer? Some horrid super-bug? Or be victim to the end stages of a chronic diease like oestoporosis with bones that crumble even as I turn over in bed? How would I want to spend my final weeks then?