She didn’t believe in the continuity of personhood, so she knew that it wasn’t fair to make such a big decision without consulting the others. The best way was to take a vote.
Like the ancient Greeks, she cast stones. Each day she wanted to keep living, a white stone in the glass jar. Each day she wanted to die, a black stone.
She already knew how she wanted to die. Neat and tidy, no loose ends, no selfishness.
She would do this for a full year, and count the votes on the 365th day. There were already strata in the jar. A white streak when the blossom was falling. A black streak when the phone hadn’t rang.
Soon she would know for sure, and either way she would be at peace.