My parents were living with us while Dad was dying of emphysema. I'd walk into their room in the morning, holding my breath, waiting to see if he was still with us. When I saw that he was, I was relieved...and disappointed. Then I felt guilty for feeling relieved, because he was suffering. And guilty for feeling disappointed, because what a bad daughter to what, wish him gone?? It was a painful, emotional time in so many ways, and even though I KNEW I had no reason to feel guilty, I did anyway. I don't anymore, though.