The day after the November 2024 election, I got a text from Susan: “How does terminal cancer come out as the favorable result?”Six months earlier, she had invited me to a show. I declined because I wasn’t feeling well.A couple of days after the play, Susan called to say she didn’t go after all. She went to urgent care instead. She wasn’t feeling great either, but she had discovered a lump near her neck. Susan usually avoids doctors.A biopsy was ordered on May 2, 2024. In a text — her usual mode of communication, which she often used to make me laugh with her sick sense of humor — she sent a serene picture of a graveyard and noted, “Results from biopsy tomorrow. Let’s just say we know it’s not good.”Susan was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. There was no treatment that could cure her. Her doctor gave her six months to a year to live.I made her promise to stay alive long enough to vote in the election. She was determined to keep that promise.She quit her nannying job after the diagnosis but continued to make art for her upcoming show. Her collage and mixed media assemblages sold out at the local art gallery.It was spring when we learned that we’d only have Susan for a limited amount of time. Her daughter invited friends and family to quietly meet early in the morning in Susan’s yard (she’s a late sleeper). We all brought flowers to plant — daisies, forget-me-nots, roses, sweet peas and pansies — as well as soil and mulch. A few hours later, when Susan woke up, it looked as though fairies had worked all night to create a masterpiece."Fairies" planting flowers in Susan's yardCourtesy of Frances ScottSusan’s yard had been the stage for many potlucks and intimate concerts. With a 72-foot Douglas fir at the west end, a shady maple tree on the east end and enough grassy area in between for a badminton set or a pop-up swimming pool, Susan’s yard had been the playground for her four grandchildren. Now, during her last summer, it would be in full bloom. Everything about Susan’s dying process was as close to ideal as dying can be. Her relationships with her daughter and two sons grew stronger. She and her daughter took a trip to the local hot springs for a girls’ weekend. Her family — including her children, their partners, her two sisters, a niece and several nephews — flew with Susan to Las Vegas to see Nate Bargatze, one of her favorite comedians.I joined Susan, her kids, grandkids and a few of her close friends for a weekend away. The grandkids made homemade pasta in the evening after a day of boating and swimming on the lake. As nightfall arrived, we spotted a lit-up boat with inflated palm trees playing The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine.” A parade of boats decorated to the hilt followed behind it. We learned this was an annual event, but we felt it was most certainly in honor of Susan."This is one of the boats we saw during our weekend at the lake with Susan in May 2024," the author writes. "We felt the parade was for her."Courtesy of Frances ScottAnytime Susan was up for a visit, I made it happen. I’d laugh and tell her, “I am jealous — you are having the perfect death.”“I know,” she giggled slyly, “and you all are going to have to deal with this shitshow.” We shared concerns about the direction our country is heading and the demise of the Earth.Susan called to tell me that she was lucky. She had arranged for medical aid in dying, which became legal in our state after a 2009 Montana Supreme Court ruling. Not long after she made her arrangements to die, the state senate debated a bill that could criminalize doctors who prescribe life-ending medication to terminally ill patients. That bill did not pass.Fortunately, Susan did not feel too poorly as the months passed. The main difference I noticed about her was the different stylish scarves she kept tied around her neck.Her pain began to increase in spring 2025. She was losing weight and the tumor on the side of her neck had grown substantially. At the end of April, I sat in the comfy chair next to her bed. She was propped up in bed, fully dressed with a flowered scarf around her neck. She looked radiant. “I’ve picked a date,” she told me matter-of-factly. “May 27th — my dad’s birthday.”Shit! I thought. That’s just around the corner.Susan’s death began to feel real in a way I had avoided feeling up until that point. We laughed when I looked at my calendar and said, “I have yoga that day.” “Do you want me to be here?” I asked.“Yes,” she replied.“OK, but I’ll make sure it’s OK with your kids.”In the car ride home, I had a good cry.Susan, three days before her deathCourtesy of Jay McGee (Susan’s nephew)Susan’s children, grandchildren and close friends gathered for “last suppers” during the weeks leading up to the date she had chosen to die. Her son-in-law cooked shrimp scampi one night. Another night we had pork tenderloin. Dinner at a dear friend’s was ham and scalloped potatoes. Susan ate small amounts of the delicious food because her appetite was declining. Meanwhile, the rest of us were all gaining weight! May 27 was a clear summer-like day. Friends and family came to sit in a circle of chairs under the shady maple tree in Susan’s yard. She took her pain pills and insisted she didn’t need to rest since she would soon be sleeping forever. She wore a long flowing white skirt, light peach top, a gauzy darker peach scarf and Cabbage Patch Kid slippers, a gift from a past housemate, and listened as everyone around her shared stories.Susan’s four grandchildren jumped in and out of an inflatable swimming pool, climbed the Douglas fir and sat for snippets in the circle. One of her sons read aloud an email from a woman whom Susan had worked for as a caregiver: “Your creativity and sense of humor delight me every day. As my Friday helper, you were so valuable and fun.” Susan’s other son made tiny origami cranes throughout the day.Susan wearing her Cabbage Patch Kid slippers on May 27, 2024, the day she died.Courtesy of Frances ScottSusan planned to take the medicine that would send her off at 11:01 p.m. 1101 was the street address of the house she grew up in and a number that she recognized showing up in her life more and more, especially during her final year. As the evening progressed, I sensed the need for her to be surrounded by just her family. Susan walked me to my car. We sat on the curb for a bit. I asked if she was scared.“No, I’m mainly curious,” she replied. “I want you to look after my children and grandchildren.”“You can count on me,” I promised without hesitation.We hugged without shedding any tears. I wanted to be as strong as she was.When I got home I lit a candle next to a piece of Susan’s art that she had given me as a birthday gift many years ago. A mutual friend and I texted back and forth until close to midnight when I was overcome by sleep.The piece of art that Susan gifted the author as a birthday present. "This was the night that Susan died and you can see the candle I lit," the author writes.Courtesy of Frances ScottWhen I woke up at 6 a.m. the next morning, I saw the group text Susan’s daughter had sent: “Surrounded by love, Susan’s heartbeat was handed off to the great mystery at 1:23 AM.”Susan missed her target time of 11:01 because she forgotten to take her anti-nausea medicine an hour ahead of time. When she finally took the drug, she said, “This tastes awful.” Then she drank flaming sambuca with three coffee beans in it. The three beans symbolized health, happiness and prosperity. Her family toasted her with their own flaming drinks, and then she fell asleep. Forty-five minutes later, Susan’s heart stopped beating. There was no struggle, no pain and no nausea.I was invited to see Susan before she was taken away to be cremated. I went to her house and hugged her two sons, daughter and granddaughters. Her daughter asked me to pick one of the many scarves Susan had been gifted during the previous year and tie it around Susan’s wrought-iron bed frame. I chose the elegant black fake fur scarf she often wore during her last winter.Susan looked beautiful, and a peace swept over me as I looked down at her body. She had lived her last year on her own terms — spending time with those she loved and making art. She died before the suffering became too unbearable."Each person who visited Susan's home the day after her death chose a scarf to wrap around her wrought-iron bed," the author writes.Courtesy of Frances ScottA week after her death, a post from Susan popped up in my Facebook feed:Hey friends and family, some of you may have already heard that I died. Sorry for the shock if you had not. I had cancer and some fast growing tumors this last year and we had enough of each other. I really loved my life. It was a great one and I really lived it, I believe. I got to be Mom to three wonderful people and I know that is what I was meant to do. I did my absolute best. My kids then had kids of their own and I became Bibi (meaning grandma in Swahili). Though I was ready to go, I left a home full of treasures and some really special people. If you ask about me they will remember and you should ask, it helps. Please do take care of yourselves and each other and please do not let this turn into a sad sob story. Don’t be sorry for me, instead, be glad we knew each other. My wildest dreams may not all have come true, but we had a hell of a time. Now, go make your art and stick together (the way things are looking you will need each other more than ever) plus, it’s all that really amounts to anything in any assemblage of a life well lived. C’mon then, I’ll have what you’re having. Let’s cheers to my next grand adventure!I left her a reply:The finesse with which you moved through this past year and the last days will live on as an inspiration. All that you created, your art, your children, and your grandchildren, will keep you in relationship with those still here. It’s not a sob story, but damn I miss you.Like Susan, I am not afraid of dying, and I don’t want pain and suffering. If I were to come down with a terminal illness, death with dignity would be my choice too.I only hope I will have the intrepidness to approach death with the wonderment and beauty that Susan did. Frances Scott lives, writes, and petsits in Montana. When she isn’t reading, writing or caring for pets, she loves to explore the outdoors, hike and float the river. Her essays appear in The New York Times, Next Avenue, Business Insider, Her Story and Estranged Substack. Her memoir on family estrangement is near completion.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.