The opportunity arose once when my sister had cancer. She fought it for five years, and in her last two weeks, I took care of her in her home, along with family and friends. Each day, she lost the ability to do one more thing. The hospice care had given us morphine, and I probably could have ended her life without it ever being noticed. I considered it briefly until my other sister arrived. The one who was ill and could barely move and could no longer speak reached her hand up and stroked our sister’s face. After witnessing that, I just waited it out and did my best to continue to make her comfortable. Had she been brain-dead, it may have been a different matter.