It used to be so clear to me, the difference between living anddying. My mother and I had always agreed that we‘d rather endour lives than live on as vegetables. But now that we had to con-front it, the shreds of physical autonomy torn more ragged everyday, the divide had blurred. She was bedridden, unable to walkon her own, her bowels no longer moving. She ate through a bag dripped through her arm and now she could no longer breathe without a machine. It was getting harder every day to say that this was really living. - P125