As an atheist, I have a visceral grudge against death. I don't like its irreversability, and I resent that it robs us of the best people ever.
I don't buy such platitudes as, "Well, she lived a good long life, and was loved by everyone." There's no such thing as a good time to die. I lost a very special uncle a few years ago, and sat next to my older brother during the funeral. My brother isn't exactly known as a sentimental person, but he broke down and sobbed and sobbed during the funeral. My family has never been very tactile, but I held my brother then, as best I could. That uncle's warm and wonderful spirit is gone, just gone.
I don't believe in killing anybody. It's just too extreme. Find another way, to fix the person, to get justice, or whatever. Don't suck the last breath out of someone.
Which makes me a big fat hypocrite, because I can't seem to convince myself to become a strict vegetarian. I poignantly remember every pet I've ever lost. All I want now is to bring them back.
I lost my wife this year. Of course she was kind of gone already, with how advanced her Alzheimer's had become. But I'm selfish. I miss her face. I also rue the thankless attitude I subjected her to when she was first getting so lost and confused. Shame on me, and I'll never get a chance to revisit the past and repair it.
She now shares a plot (having been cremated) with a wonderful aunt of hers in the sleepy far-off town where she was born. She'll get a headstone with an emblem of two cats embracing, which is so her given how she had a cat by her side for most of her life. But the headstone isn't done yet, and I feel some lack of closure as a result.
It will be a long time before I get back to that out-of-the-way town to see her completed grave, and it will almost certainly be my last visit. Personally, I couldn't bring myself to speak to the stone, though I know that's a time-honored tradition for almost everyone. I'm sure I'll just stand there, mixed with relief knowing she's no longer suffering, and aching with the emptiness her keen, gentle words and acts once filled.
And in all of this, I'll know that I, too, have an appointment with the Reaper.
So, will this be your first visit to your great-grandmother's gravesite since she passed away? Perhaps something about having moved so far away from that place is prompting you to go back. I am sorry the pain has scaled to such epic levels, and even sorrier we can't bring your great-grandmother back. I'm sure she would come back if she could.
Love means never having to say, "Put down that meat cleaver!"