The only good death I remember was my grandmother's about 5 years ago.
She'd reached the grand old age of 95 when she died, so there's not too much complaining about eventually giving in, at least not in my book. However, still feel she could've gone past 100 no sweat if she only had wanted to. On the other hand, I can understand why not.
She'd always been very reluctant about having to move into this home for the elderly. Her own parents had died in her and grandfathers house, where they had a little appt, both also over 90. Frankly think it wouldn't have harmed if my parents could've waited some more before selling their house and taking over grandma's appt, but that's the way it just happened anyway.
I mean the home where she was living after wasn't actually a bad one, no way, but still could feel for her. Especially after my time in airport prison, I remember stepping out of the elevator, going down the corridor with all the doors and suddenly looking at it quite differently than ever before.
During her last years one could clearly see how the joy of life left her, and she also used to regularly mention she'd pray and hope she wouldn't have to reach 100. She was never bitter, but every time I'd visit her and hug her some, she'd cry a bit. Since my grandfather'd died 20 years earlier and all of her old friends going one by one as well, guess she felt pretty lonely.
The day she died, my parents called early in the evening, but I was just bloody stupid as not to hit the train immediately, cause I had to go to work at 11pm, and when I rushed as soon as I could the next day, she was already gone.
She looked a bit strange, cause they had fixed her a bandage vertically around her head to prevent her jaw from dropping down, but she still didn't look like she'd suffered or put up a fight. Her skin was already cold and a bit pale, and at the root of her fingernails you could see blood starting to coagulate below.
I remember holding her hand before leaving, people already waiting outside the door to wheel her away to the morgue, thinking 'Sorry I didn't make it in time', and I felt like I would have to cry, but I couldn't. Same old, same old.
Almost every time I'm on a plane n above the clouds, seeing the horizon far, far away and the big, big blue arching over it, becoming darker and darker, I see her and grandfather rising miles high through the clouds and into the sky, thinking 'Sorry I didn't make it', and then I cry rivers and don't give a flying f**k what any of the other passengers might think.