Why I doubt I’ll live to 90

Dennis was my late mother’s brother. I was born on his 31st birthday and as he grew older, we grew closer. He was always something of a loner, never marrying and living with his mother when he left the Fleet Air Arm in the 1960s, and then when she died, on his own. He had cousins living nearby, but chose not to keep in touch with them.

He did not enjoy the increasing frailty that came with old age, and in many ways I felt privileged to be the person he trusted to cut his grass, deal with problems and in his final years, help him to have a weekly bath. Watching his gradual decline, made me aware of the likely trajectory I will take in my final years.

That will help me confront infirmity when it arrives, and more importantly manage my expectations about how long I have left to live. Of course I, and anyone for that matter, could die tomorrow, but the odds are that like Dennis, my life will end someone in the year before my 90th birthday. Yes, I might live longer, but I’m making sure I get everything done that I want to do, well before I get to that age. I’ll turn 70 this summer, so cannot afford to waste a single day of the time I have left.