“That’s why we always ask: ‘Have all other avenues been explored? Do you understand this is completely voluntary? Do you understand you can opt out anytime?’”

“They have to say they want to die.”

“We call it self-deliverance.”

“Right,” I said, nodding.

Bethanny wanted to make sure that we spent enough time with each client, preparing them for death, so that they—and we—felt confident about their choice. Helping them with all their preparations also took time. Bethanny had considered every last arrangement. Not only did we have to prepare them mentally, but there were technical details to attend to as well. We asked them to assemble lists of all of their passwords to make it easier for those left behind to access bank accounts and anything else they’d have to tidy up afterward. In a way, we were a full-service operation that provided manageable exit plans for people who had no idea of what the aftermath of death could bring.

Lorraine told me that Mitchell was not suicidal per se, but his affliction had reached the point where living with it was unsustainable. He was okay with his choice, and his family, knowing he’d probably find another way—gun or belt—got a referral from a friend.

Lorraine said that when she arrived for her final appointment with Mitchell, his sister was weeping and arranging white lilies while she and another partner wheeled in the helium tank for the hood. It had been on Mitchell to rent the helium tank from a party store. It seemed cruel to make people who were dying wander into a place that catered to vibrant, festive occasions, but we could not risk being detected. We were just a “support mechanism.”

Before the final appointment, in addition to administering the questionnaire, and getting from them a list of people they felt they had unfinished business with, or people they felt they had wronged and were ready to make amends to, we also asked them to make amends to themselves, so they could work out any final resentments that they may have been harboring about the way they had lived their own lives. Choices they had made—or regretted not making.

Everything had to be done in order, with the most difficult detachment lessons coming last. Lorraine said she and her partner had done all of this with Mitchell. They even had prepared the letters to be sent to all the people he had listed. They sat with him as he read his own letter of forgiveness to himself.

“We did everything right,” she said. “I’ve helped dozens of people with peaceful transitions.”

I wanted to know what Mitchell had forgiven himself for. What he was hoping to get forgiveness from others for. But Lorraine was careful to keep it all private.

“Grief is violent sometimes,” Lorraine said. “His sister was beside herself.”

I waited for her to give me more, but she just drove me back to my car.