Life Over 60-Why Doesn’t Anyone Talk About Death?

Life is getting exhausting.

Iva Ursano
5 min readJun 10, 2024
Photo credit: Shutterstock.

I need to have a conversation today about a delicate topic. Death. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, well, more since I turned 60. I figured all 60-year-olds talked about it.

Or maybe we just think about it and don’t want to share our dark, morbid thoughts with anyone, which I find odd. People love to talk about religion, politics, the economy, their neighbours and a bunch of other random topics, but not their mortality.

Why is that? Is it taboo to talk about it? Too boring? Too depressing? I mean, death is inevitable, so why can’t we talk about our own death?

My thoughts on death

I’ve noticed that my thoughts lately go to my life and death. I think back on my life to this point and wonder what’s ahead of me if anything at all.

I used to fear death a lot when I was younger, and by younger, I mean under 40. Don’t we all? We don’t really want to die.

Life is challenging, but for the most part, our lives are good. We have good friends, a job that pays the bills, and a loving family. You get the drift.

You deal with struggles as they arise, you conquer them, and move on. Rinse and repeat.

And then you hit 60.

I noticed once I hit 60, everything changed. My body, my attitude, and my thoughts around my death.

The body changes make me sad. That youthful face no longer stares back at me in the mirror.

The attitude changes make me happy because I’ve completely lost my filter, and I no longer have any fucks to give, ever.

My thoughts around death, though? They’ve taken on a whole new life of their own.

I stopped fearing death in my 50s.

It wasn’t until I left my abusive relationship back in 2013, declared bankruptcy, and hit rock bottom that I completely overhauled my attitude about life and my place in this world.

Before that, my life was a total disaster, and I needed to fix a lot of things, especially me.

I had a lot of healing and inner work to do. I did a lot of soul-searching and found that there were a lot of questions that needed answers.

I found the answers, by the way. They were inside of me all this time.

But as I danced through life in my 50s, healed, and grew, death didn’t frighten me anymore. “When I go, I go” was my quip. It didn’t matter.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m in no hurry to die. I kinda like my life, and I still have so much I feel I need to do and want to do. But if it happens, well, you know.

It’s not like I have much say in the matter.

Things change in your 60s.

So here I sit at 61 years old, and while I don’t think of death every day, I’ll be honest — I think about it an awful lot more now.

Another decade has gone by and it’s been a tough one. Will this one be just as tough? Do I have the mental bandwidth to handle much more than I already have in life?

I don’t really know. Part of me is tired and isn’t certain how much more she can take.

Another part of me says, “Well, you lived a full, colourful, and good life, no”?

And while that may be true, I’m still a little scared. I'm not so much scared of dying but scared that I’m running out of time.

Scared that I might die sooner than I want because there’s still so much I want to do and see. I’m scared because I’m not quite ready to go.

I’m kinda tired, to be honest.

While there’s that part of me that wants to live to be 100, there’s another part of me that’s just so tired.

I’m tired of the constant struggle.

I’m tired of life some days.

I’m tired of people being so mean to each other.

I’m tired of all the poverty, war, injustice, and helpless people and animals around the world.

I’m tired of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer.

I’m tired of fighting big corporations to stay afloat in this blogging world.

I’m tired of pivoting every week in my job to try to make ends meet.

I’m tired of the news introducing another virus, another vaccine, another dangerous threat to all mankind.

I’m tired of watching myself get older and older with each passing day.

I’m tired that I can’t do anything about most of those things.

I’m just tired.

And I think to myself, ‘are you ready to go then, Iva’?

Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?

But why don’t we have these conversations? Why are people so afraid of death and talking about it?

I want to talk about it. I want to know that I’m not alone in my feelings and fears.

I want others to tell me how they feel about it and if they’re just as afraid as I am.

And then I think about these things

How will I die?

God, I hope it’s not death by drowning. This terrifies me.

Will Alzheimers ravage me like it did my mother?


Car accident?

Plane crash (please, not in the ocean)?

Do I have 20 more good years left in me?

How many years do I have left? I really want the answer to that.

Or do I?

Maybe we should know

Would it be better if we knew how much time we had left? Part of me thinks that would be great! Then maybe people wouldn’t be so afraid to do the things they’ve always wanted to do.

Maybe people will live life to the fullest, embrace each day, be kind, compassionate, and loving to each other.

Maybe if we go through each day knowing when our time is over, we’ll just be happier and have more inner peace and love.

Maybe. Who knows?

But for now

I will do my best to enjoy each day, live life to the fullest, and not let the fear of death consume my life.

xo iva xo