Wrapping my head around this

As the days dwindle down, I keep asking myself how I will really feel when my time comes. How do I imagine death? Or what comes after? I don't really care if there's a Heaven, and I hope there's no Hell (swear there ain't no heaven and I pray there ain't no hell--thanks, Blood, Sweat and Tears!), and oblivion doesn't worry me, and reincarnation sounds interesting, so it's really just the process by which I'm fascinated. I was always a process person.

I want to go peacefully, but to do that morphine has to play a factor. And probably Atavan, an anti-anxiety med. Unless I'm just not anxious at the end. Which could happen. I can think myself through this, as I do when I'm alone and have a breathing issue. I just slow down and reposition my powerchair and try to control my breathing.  Maybe I can do the same thing, with morphine keeping the air hunger under control, as I pass. I want to be conscious when I do, if the two things aren't mutually exclusive.

If they do exclude each other, and I imagine they do, then I guess morphine-induced loss of consciousness is the way I'll go. I don't want Paul and the kids to see me gasping for breath at the end.

So, does the world cease to exist because I am no longer there to perceive it? Of course not, as people  die constantly and the world plugs along. But since I can only view it from my perspective, for all intents and purposes, it ends for me. Legacy is all we strive for: our children, our reputation, and some material things we leave behind. I think I'm comfortable with my legacy.