Dying and Living in Utah
Jeane Martha Kane didn't get everything she wanted in life, but she was absolutely going to get everything in death.
When she was diagnosed with terminal cancer at age 84, she decided against chemotherapy, which could have extended her life but would have left her feeling miserable—a cure perhaps worse than the disease.
I accepted this, but she still tried to console me in her usual witty way.
"I've lived a long life, Rich," she said. "I've outlived my expiration date!"
She wanted no funeral, no memorial service.
"Too expensive! Such a waste of money!"
And definitely no burial in a cemetery surrounded by strangers and Republicans.
"Just stick me in the oven and burn me up!"
About halfway through her five-month illness, she told me she wanted to try marijuana for the first time, to see if it made her feel better or gave her an appetite. I scored some, went to her apartment and was inside for about a minute when she whispered, as if about to do something naughty, "Did you get my Mary Jane?"
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