I would totally take that over the way my brother died: in a hospital bed, covered with shit and in pain.
I gotta hand it to my ex. I don't know if you read about it but it's all near the top of my feed. "A Spanner in the Gears," "Give This Woman a Cigarette" versions I and II, and "WTF Do I Do With This?".
Elevator version: She's smoked her whole life, now has lung cancer, weighs like 80 pounds, looks like a weird assemblage of twigs, and is like, Fuck it. This is the end. I'm ready. Let's get me into a hospice where they will let me smoke my way across the Styx.
And it's happening. A couple of more documents and she'll be there.
In the wake of her impending death, her sons (1 our, the other from her abusive monster [presumed dead-may he burn in Hell! ] 2nd husband, but who is as a son to me) reconciled, they reconciled with their uncle, she reconciled with her brother (same person) who turned out to be a prince in getting all the shit that needed to be done done, and her second, disabled son who she supported in a decades long co-dependent relationship is now determined (at age 40!) to make his own way.
Long elevator ride, sorry. I just finished my coffee. We miss you at the Mudditors meetings!