If you've ever lost someone close, to a sudden disease or an accident or other calamity, perhaps you know the piteous fearfulness of imagining the mental anguish of that loved one in face of the end, the last terrified moments of one who is innocent and blameless.
Or if you've come close to losing someone, you may know this as well, having imagined and re-imagined it between the onset and the felicitous conclusion of the near-loss.
There are those of us who can somehow bear the notion of our own eventual surcease, but who find it unendurable to contemplate the final fearful moments of our dearest companions.
But we all die. We either watch the piteous end of our loved ones, or we inflict the loss—and the heartbreak of vicariously imagined deathbed terror—upon them by our own departure.