What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
I find myself thinking a lot about the idea of living a very long life, because my parents are now living the questions that longevity raises.
My mother is 91 and in a nursing home with dementia. It is getting worse each day. She is frightened of being alone and frequently feels abandoned, even though she is the most visited person in the facility. She tells us repeatedly that she wants to die. She asks if she can die. We sit with her and reassure her that we love her and would feel the same way too. There are moments when the only thing we can offer is not a solution, but presence.
My father turns 96 shortly. He still lives at home, but he has surrendered his driver’s license. He visits Mum for eight hours every day. His loyalty is admirable, but it is also costly. In recent months he has been hospitalised with pneumonia and, not long after, with low blood pressure. We keep encouraging him to visit for no more than four hours a day—not because we want him to love her less, but because he needs to look after himself if he is going to keep supporting her. He wants to be there all day, every day. Love has its own stubborn logic.
Next week I will start writing the life story of a woman who is 95 and still living independently in her own apartment. I’m told she has lived an incredible life and enjoys staying up-to-date with current affairs and politics. I’m looking forward to meeting her and getting another perspective on what life can look like at that age. It’s a timely counterpoint: the same number of years can hold radically different experiences.
It was only a couple of generations ago that many people assumed they would die not long after retirement. Health standards and expectations have changed dramatically in recent times. As I said in a recent post, I’ve come to think of these years as the final leg in a significant life journey. I work hard at staying healthy and I hope this leg will be long and meaningful.
But I see no point in prolonging life simply because the medical system can sustain it. Life should have meaning. Atul Gawande’s book Being Mortal has helped me name what I’ve been sensing: our failure is not just how we treat the sick and aged, but how we forget they have priorities beyond being safe and living longer. The chance to shape your own story matters.
Many years ago I asked my parents what was most important to them in later life. Their answer was clear: to live in their own home, have family nearby, and enjoy their garden. We were fortunate to help them experience all of that until very recently.
So yes—I look forward to living a very long life. But I want it to be filled with meaning. I am not frightened of death; I know where I stand with God. What I fear is a life emptied into boredom, loneliness, and helplessness. I don’t want that for my parents, for myself, or for others.
The Afterword 
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