Every day is important – until there are no more

On 26 February 2027, I will turn 86 – well beyond the average lifespan of an Australian male. This realisation shapes my perspective. My core message: every day matters, and openly facing mortality motivates me to live with optimism, purpose, and intent.

By explicitly acknowledging the certainty of death, we come to better understand our deepest values and priorities. This awareness not only guides our meaningful choices for the years ahead but also helps us and our loved ones prepare emotionally and practically for our eventual passing.

By sharing my experiences of aging and my evolving perspective on mortality, I show how reflecting on death can help us define our values, make meaningful choices, and ensure our wishes are known – reinforcing the message that every Day matters. The daily intake of pills I take reminds me I have more time for reflection.

Scientific and medical advances extend life, but also raise questions about our future. Yet most people still avoid facing mortality. Perhaps, having no say in our birth, makes us feel uneasy about lacking control over death?

Someday, someone will say your name for the last time. Therefore, I believe it’s vital that our farewell reflects our wishes and character – be it funeral details, values, or how we want to be remembered.

Is leaving a legacy important to you? Do you care? You?

I recognise that people die in various ways – accidents, disease, suicide, misfortune, or war – but most die naturally, in bed.

I’m not trying to be funny or indeed morose. I just hope to get people thinking and planning for the end of life, which we all have to face. Of course, if my words make you smile, that’s fine too.

Heightened awareness leads me to wonder how many more birthdays, sporting events, concerts, or writing opportunities I will enjoy. These thoughts extend beyond milestones to the small, daily moments.

Everyday pleasures – playing with our dog, morning tea with my wife, park walks, chats with friends, music with red wine, or reading by the fire – matter more than ever. Last year’s birthday for my wife was an unforgettable family gathering.

Similarly, an earlier dinner with friends reminded me that each gathering now carries extra significance as an occasion to be savoured. Others may not notice this shift, but I do.

This awareness has made moments more meaningful and prompted me to be more purposeful with my time.

Reflecting honestly, I realise death isn’t as mysterious as many believe. Just as birth is without choice, we fight death – also without choice. Still, much remains unknown, and this uncertainty shapes how people talk about living and dying. This apprehension leads directly into the next part of my reflection.

Because of this indecision, we often avoid confronting death and grief until it is unavoidable, hoping life will be prolonged, rowing against the flow of the strongest current. We’re more comfortable sharing photos of life’s beginnings, as bad as the pictures may be. Both our in-between experiences also merit recognition, just as we tell birth stories and display old photos.

To add complexity, death ignores time’s passage; it arrives haphazardly because time is human-made and disconnected from it.

This uncertainty often leads us to postpone thinking about mortality. Yet exploring these thoughts – whether alone or with others – lets us reflect on the past and ponder life’s meaning. (There is none that I have experienced). I spend much time in meditation.

To explore this further, think back to your first loss – whether a relative, friend, or pet – when death first insinuated itself into your life experience. In that moment, did you connect death with loss and ponder its meaning?

Experience has shown me that loss is complex and every life is finite. I have endured many losses, yet I am determined not to let them overshadow my remaining years.

For some, faith offers comfort through belief in an afterlife. My own convictions involve uncertainty.

While faith shapes many responses to mortality, I have found that wisdom must be sought in this life, even if some questions remain unanswered. To be told that the life we are living is a forerunner or introduction to a better one serves only to devalue the one we have.

I reject this idea for lack of evidence. This leads to a key distinction: the difference between the purpose and the reason for life.

I don’t believe life has an intrinsic purpose or reason. Maybe purpose directs our actions – like pursuing happiness, knowledge, or helping others. These are meanings we create.

In contrast, the question of life’s reason is a deeper, philosophical question: why does life exist? There is no reason for it.

Purpose is individual and subjective, while the reason for life may remain elusive. Purpose structures life; existence’s reason remains unclear. Perhaps life’s reason is simply procreation – the continuation of the species.

As I consider these questions, I hope to reach some understanding before my time comes. Returning now from philosophy to more practical matters, the next reflections address these real-world concerns.

I do not want my family shocked or uncertain about my wishes, especially for my funeral. For example, I want to be cremated quietly with only family present, and my ashes scattered on the half-forward flank of the Heidelberg football ground (grandstand side) at a suitable time.

When my brother passed away with dementia during COVID, his family had little choice. It taught me that it’s best to prepare ahead rather than wait until the last minute. These experiences highlight why such discussions are vital.

Preparation can include writing down your wishes, discussing them openly with family, or adding a simple document to your important papers. Early decisions provide clarity and spare loved ones confusion.

My coffin should be of the cheapest, most environmentally friendly material. The afterparty should be a celebration of my successes and an acknowledgement of my failures, but nonetheless celebratory.

This process matters deeply to me. I want my family to understand my life – its challenges, successes, disappointments, and its ending – even though they’ve witnessed much of it already.

Sharing these aspects helps them understand how I value them, why I distinguish between manners and genuine civility, between positivity and negativity, and why I believe in loving oneself before one can accomplish these things.

These values especially make me think of my wife, whose approach to motherhood is the purest expression of love I know. I want to share the core principles that have guided my life and my family.

Even with early preparations, most families aren’t ready for one’s death—it often comes as a shock, especially if not discussed. While accidents happen, we usually sense when time draws near.

Because we can’t predict the exact moment, it’s wise to help our families be emotionally and practically prepared. Forgiveness and love can ease this transition.

If you don’t clearly share your wishes about death and your funeral with your family, you may lessen the meaning of your life journey. Be open about your preferences.

For some, faith provides peace and forgiveness or helps set things right with their maker. For others without religious beliefs, letting things be may feel best. Each person’s background and culture shape their values at life’s end, so all approaches should be respected.

Sharing your wishes openly may help your family see aspects of you they had not noticed before. Conversely, you might see something new in them.

For some, death follows a prolonged illness; for others, it arrives abruptly. Not everyone spends their last days in palliative care, in a hospital, or at home – the circumstances vary widely.

I prefer to keep things simple, and I’ve already talked to my wife about it.

Why have I written all this? Let me explain with a personal example. In late 2025, I visited my doctor. Unable to articulate my symptoms, I wrote them down and handed my iPad to him. Within moments, I underwent an ECG. Searching questions followed quickly, and answers just as fast. I found myself shrouded by technical medical jargon that I struggled to understand. I concluded that I had a serious heart condition because the phrase “congestive heart failure” kept recurring.

For whatever reason, both my wife and I took the discussion to mean that my death was imminent. We drove home in silence and a little later rang our children to give them the news.

We had, for another reason, cause to visit the doctor again: The next morning.where it was revealed that we had thoroughly misinterpreted the discussion. We now laugh about it, but underneath it all, it was positively premature.

With that said, here’s my thought for today:

A Death Certificate only records the end of life. The true measure of your life is your legacy – shaped by your actions, values, and priorities. My central message on mortality and priorities is this: Build a meaningful legacy by discussing your end-of-life wishes and values.

These crucial conversations bring clarity and peace, helping align your actions and legacy to your deepest intentions. Above all, remember: preparing for death gives life meaning and ensures that each Day of your later years is vitally important. I hope I have prompted some further discussion.

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