Death and Thoughts of Death

 My mother died quickly. She died in her sleep one morning while she was waiting to go to work. She was 54. I envy her death.

I don't mean I wish I was dead, I just mean I envy the way she died. She was alone and it was sudden. There was no prolonged process of her slowly down to nothing and knowing everyone was watching her do it. The bandaid was ripped off, for her and for everyone else.

I once told my dad that I wanted my death to be a random shooting. I wanted it to be sudden and impersonal. Meaningless. I loved the idea of this because it meant no one could blame me for my death. No "oh she should have seen to her health and we wouldn't be here." Random shooting would be difficult for the people who love me, but not as difficult as watching me waste away and lose all of who I am. 

Quick death. Is there anything more we can wish for?

Am I being morbid? Yes. Probably. My aunt is dying. It's sudden but slow. It's rough. She's confused and in pain and nothing will get better until things are just finished. I hate that for her. I hate that for anyone. As much as I don't want her to die, and believe me, I do NOT want her to die, I just fucking hate this process of her getting worse and worse every day. I hate that she can't move. I hate that she can't make sense. I hate that she can't tell her family what she wants to tell them before she goes. I hate that the last memories they will have of her is all of this. It's an agonizing, prolonged nightmare. 

I don't want her to die. But beyond that, I don't want her to have to go through the hell of dying.