My grandfather told me a story when I was a young girl that sounded so fantastic and wonderful to me that I could barely believe the story was true, never mind that the woman whom the story was centered around had been a relative of mine before I was even a thought. Grandpa's somewhat distant relative, and one of a handful he called family that he hadn't married or sired, invited him to her funeral some time around 1967. She was not yet dead. She had married very well, never had children, and had been left an enormous estate by her late husband. She knew she had weeks, if not days to live (why, I don't recall) and so she was throwing a party to celebrate her death so she could give everything away to the people she cared about. Grandpa flew to LA that weekend, went to the party, which he said included a pianist playing his aunt's favorite song over and over all afternoon. She gave away her possessions and fortune to the people in her life - the grocery delivery clerk, the milk man, her private nurse, the mailman, and so on. Grandpa said he had never seen anything like it but she seemed entirely happy on the eve of her death, so who can argue?
Fast forward 20-ish years and his wife, my grandmother, passed away at the age of 92 from cancer throughout her body. She never accepted treatment for it despite knowing it would kill her sooner rather than later. She told us, "I'm 92 and I've had a wonderful full life, and I'm surrounded by my family. What else do I need? I'm okay, I'm done and that's okay with me. Now go eat!" And that was her attitude for that last awful week or so of her life. Truth be told, it was only awful for us, who would (hopefully) continue living longer than Grandma - she was clearly at peace and was being her wonderful, subtle self as always - she made sure, without any of us really realizing what she was doing until it was all over, that *we* were going to be okay. She kept reminding me how proud she was of me and that while it's okay to be sad "about all this", that she was okay and made whatever peace she needed to make with whom or what ever. It was the most gracious...I lack a better, additional adjective...it was simply admirable, that's all. I hope I live that long and can be that satisfied and happy at the end to be able to calmly and strongly let go like that. She didn't tell us to go party, though she did make sure we left her side regularly to go eat. I miss her dearly, still, but the example she set is something I will never forget. And apparently neither will several of the hospice nurses who were with her and us in those last days. Grandma treated absolutely everyone and event with equal time and respect, including her own passing.