At 93 Years Old You Can Choose To Die

My grandmother is 93 years old. She has outlived three husbands. Both, the first and last husband had exactly the same name Henry Petrucci. She was a dignified elegant woman who always had an opinion but never lost her cool. She’s been in very good relative health for the last few years but has recently declined as a result of a fall. At the end of your life, they offer you all kinds of tests that they can run, treatment plans and other maintenance type of medical treatments. But at the end of your life, that just gets you ten more days in the hospital. At some point, you’d rather just go home and lie in your own bed, take all the tubes out and try to die with dignity and peace. I was with my father-in-law when in the last day of his life we whisked him away from the care facility to a hospital bed in the middle of his living room. He died a few hours later in a familiar place surrounded by those who loved him and only those that loved him.

If I had to tell you something about my grandmother, who was known as "Nona" to my children and her other nine great grandchildren, I would have to tell you this. She was the most dignified and courageous woman I ever knew. She lived and died with elegance, her most prized possession.