From WP: What’s a ‘good death’? It’s not quite the peaceful drifting off I’d imagined for my dad.

But his death was not the peaceful drifting away I’d always imagined, where you floated into a calm, morphine-induced sleep, your breath came slower and slower and then simply stopped. He vomited blood over and over. A lifelong stoic who never complained of pain — even when he’d broken a hip the year before — he twitched restlessly in bed, eyes closed, his brow furrowed and his skin clammy.

Read it. 

This is why I am a firm believer in "death by hibachi." Not always easy to realize, however. My novel Last Rights deals with this.