Regarding this subject, there's simply nothing redeeming about the topic of death; it's never good. Dying alone is a given; we're all born alone, we all live alone, and we all die alone. That's the price of life, a solo consciousness that will never touch another, one that only lasts as long as you live. For you, it doesn't really matter what comes of your rotting corpse, whether it rots in the ground, is burned, or rots in your damp summer bed. The point is that you won't see it or have to clean it, "you" will be gone at that point. That doesn't remove the horror, of course, I often think about my rotting corpse and what it will look like, I wonder about my skeleton and what that looks like beneath my skin. I think about my hollowed-out skull after my brain has thoroughly rotted, to think that the very thing that makes me think can be destroyed just like that. I think living alone and growing old alone is what's really what people mean by dying alone. Life is really a raw deal when all is said and done, utterly meaningless, full of suffering and desire, and in a cold world where entropy always wins.