My great uncle died a few years ago age 98. He was very active up to the end, including going out to his favorite bar and drinking and dancing until 2 a.m.
True story: it was a January night. He was out at his bar. Some friends drove him home at 2 a.m. (he had stopped driving a few years previously). They let him out at the entrance to the parking lot of his apartment complex (instead of pulling in and up to his apartment). My uncle was walking across the parking lot when he fell down (slipped on ice). He injured his hip and could not get up, and so laid there for about two hours until found by someone. He was taken to the hospital, against his wishes.
I visited him that next night. He seemed fine and in good spirits. Later that night, while a friend was visiting, he got out of his hospital bed, excused himself and walked into the bathroom. After about 15 minutes of no sound of activity his friend became worried and peaked in: my uncle had quietly died while sitting on the toilet.
Of course, he had many great stories, like how during Prohibition he would drive down to Galveston and take a party cruise out to international waters, and about the various speakeasies here in Fort Worth.
He once told me the secret to a long life: eat a banana a day, which he did faithfully since childhood.