His Last Request Was a Coca-Cola

Walter was a self-reliant, dignified 88-year-old, who'd driven himself to the hospital for shortness of breath due to end-stage lung disease. When two days of positive pressure mask ventilation didn't help, intubation and being attached to a breathing machine was the next step.

Walter's daughter Lynn, who had been a masterful ICU and ER nurse for four decades, told him that if he went on that breathing machine in his condition, he would never get off of it again. Walter's pulmonary doctor nodded.

Though many people lead meaningful, ventilator dependent lives, Walter knew life on a machine with end-stage lung disease did not match his idea of living.

Walter had been an executive. He was used to making decisions.

He asked Lynn if she'd look after her mother. She said she would.

He had already made sure that his affairs were in order.

He asked for a Coca-Cola.

The nurse said his heart rate was too fast for caffeine.

Lynn said, "Bring him a Coke."

Walter sipped that Coke as he exchanged heartfelt good byes with his two daughters. Then he held their mother close, whispering soft words of love into her ear, before he removed the positive pressure oxygen mask from his face.

His nurse reached out to replace the mask, but Lynn stood up for her father's right to discontinue treatment. He was mentally clear, he'd made up his mind, and his papers were signed. He had lived consciously and decisively, and he intended to die that way too.

Lynn said, "Leave it off. Just step back. He's all right with this and so are we."

Gazing into his wife's eyes, Walter struggled for breath for some minutes, until the carbon dioxide that he couldn't exhale accumulated in his blood stream just enough to sedate him naturally. Then he calmed down... his breath slowed... and slowed... and slowed... until his eyes looked upward... and glazed over.

Lynn held his hand and whispered very softly... "Go to the light."

Walter died with a look of self-determination and calm acceptance on his face.