I've had very little experience with dying, actually none personally, but I'm not sure I'll be very good at it when the time comes. I just recovered from a change-of-season cold/flu and felt so shitty I didn't smile for two weeks. They told me when I was new that God never lays more on a person than he or she can handle. I'm not so sure about that.
Yet I've known people both in and out of the rooms who are terminal. They have no hope of ever getting better, but they seem to be doing OK, some seem happy in fact. I don't know how they do it, but I'm guessing there must be some kind of major surrender that goes on that I just can't now imagine. I guess faith is the certainty I'll be given what I need when I need it. Not a moment before.
Thinking about death brings up self-centered fear. My mighty ego cannot imagine itself no longer in existence. Fortunately I am working an ego-dissolving program called the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. Even though I'm not yet "wearing life like a loose robe," I'm no longer being dragged kicking and screaming through life either.
I plan to continue grinding down ego, making tiny surrenders each day. Hopefully I'll get to the point, when I'm standing in front of death's door, that I am more a human "being" and less a human "doing." I want to be able to let go of the steering wheel in my little boat completely and just float on down the river. Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.