I’ve been with three people as they died, my great-grandmother, my mother-in-law, and my grandmother.

With my great-grandmother, I was 14 and it was nearly ten years since a stroke changed her. My only memory of her prior to her stroke was a shopping trip where she taught me it was ok to taste the grapes at the grocery store before buying. It wasn’t stealing, it was testing for sweetness. You only wanted to bring home the sweet grapes – and grapes could be both sweet or sour. She died with only me and my cousin Kimmy in the hospital room, alarms beeping, her eyes wide open for the longest minute, until they weren’t any more. I had to tell my grandmother her mom died.

My mother-in-law passed away when I was 30. Just hours before she died, she asked for a Coke. We reminder her she liked Pepsi, not Coke. She corrected us; she said her fridge had been filled for a lifetime with Pepsi because her husband and kids preferred it. But she, she preferred Coke and wanted one before she passed. Life doesn’t get much sweeter than a drink of Coke and, with bravery, she let go.

When my grandmother passed last summer, I was 49; a fortunate age to still have a grandparent. Her passing was reminiscent of a play where all the action takes place in one space. Her children, her sister, her niece, and her grandchildren huddled in a hospital room full of Italian gusto and nonsense with her center-stage in hospital bed. There was no delirium. She was counting from 100 to 0 by a reduction of 7s with no mistakes to tell us she was there and still logical.

Her logic was countered later that morning when my grandfather’s ghost came to welcome her. He was the man in the corner of the room that she said showed up, holding the newspaper ads. In life, my grandfather was obsessed to the point of annoyance with the best grocery store ads each week. He didn’t shop just at one store, he shopped for the deals; and apparently this carried over into the beyond. He would know where the grapes were on sale each week.

Somewhere between the logic in her mind and the ghost in the corner, she decided to remove her breathing mask. It was the only thing keeping her alive, something I didn’t quite believe when the doctors told us, but clearly was a fact because once removed, she just stopped.

I don’t understand it. The bravery to decide to stop. I don’t like roller coaster rides as much as I used to. During a recent trip to an amusement park, I waited in line with my kids to get on the rollercoaster. When it was our turn to get on, I declined, having felt beat-up enough for the day. I walked backwards in the line as my kids took the ride and I met them at the exit. How does one find the bravery to remove a breathing mask, deciding you’ve had enough of life’s Coke and grapes, and get on a ride you have no idea of what you are getting on forever?