This is such an emotive subject and I feel for everyone faced with this predicament
I lost my Father 2 years ago at 86 (and is still tough as I was 'Daddy's girl'), but honestly thought he'd last to 96 at least. I was living in London, but after 2 years there I just thought it might be selfish of me to stay another year while he was on his own in Edinburgh shortly after my Mum died.
Long story short, I moved back to Edinburgh to live with him 4 years ago with all my not inconsiderable 'stuff' (a largish house kinda helped) thinking I could be there for him should he need some assistance given his advanced, but very capable years . . . then all of a sudden, despite my joking with people that he was probably fitter than me, he took a turn for the worse out of the blue and died with me there.
Far from what I expected, it was a shock I am still dealing with daily, but I thought he would, without a doubt, need to go into some kind of care home at some point because I could no longer cope, but I lost him right there at home but at 86 rather than 96.
Point I am making though is, though I miss him dearly every day, I am relieved that A: I was there for him so he could die at home as he always wished, and B: He didn't ever have to go into a care home.
I remember visiting his mother in a care home for years after school . . . and she was always sitting in a chair, in a hallway, like she'd been placed there as an exhibit - and I think that's what made my Dad decide, and later tell me that he would take a 'pill' to end his own life as this was no way for him (and he told me that when I was 15, but I kinda understood).
But every story is different, and people having to consider taking parents into their own homes now? Hell yeah, if they have the room, but it's so difficult if they need care . . . and I was only there to help by picking up the phone in the end to get people to come round and pick him up from the floor in the middle of the night - and that's the last memory I have of us laughing together as me dragging him across the floor, waiting for medics prompted him to say 'if this was being filmed, it would really work as a monty python sketch with a narrative'.
It's never funny, but my family always found ways around dark stuff, so bitter sweet in a lighthearted way, even when I spoke to him on his inflatable bed to make him less uncomfortable and pumped full of morphine, but is nice to remember. And of course my heart goes out to anyone who has to make decisions about their parents . . . especially if they are as stubborn as my Father was.