My wife and I are both in our 60s and we often talk about the end of our lives. Not in a morbid way. We hope it’s not anytime soon, but we both agree that we’d like to go together, at the same time. We have a great relationship and can’t imagine life without each other.
The conversation often turns to what might happen if one or both of us can no longer cope. Is this something we should discuss with our children? Are we wrong – or even selfish – for thinking this way?
Bess Strachan writes:
It’s not a morbid question, even if it makes some people uncomfortable.
The way you describe these conversations – calm, loving, hypothetical rather than urgent – tells me something important straight away. This isn’t about despair. It’s about connection, fear of loss, and the very human wish not to be left alone at the end of a long, shared life.
Many couples in their 60s and beyond talk quietly about death. They just don’t always admit it. When you’ve built a life together, raised children, weathered storms and come out the other side, it’s natural to wonder how the story ends – and whether it’s bearable to imagine one of you going on without the other.
Wanting to “go together” is rarely about wanting to die. It’s about wanting to avoid loneliness, prolonged suffering, or becoming a burden. It’s about love.
That doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you human.
Where the conversation becomes more complicated – and more important – is when the idea shifts from comforting fantasy to practical planning. The phrase “if we can no longer cope” is doing a lot of work here, and it deserves to be unpacked.
What does not coping actually mean to each of you?
Physical decline? Cognitive impairment? Loss of independence? Pain? Fear of residential care? Or the anguish of watching the other suffer?
Couples often assume they’re aligned, only to discover they’re picturing very different futures.
The question of whether to involve your children is less about sharing every thought and more about sharing your values.
You do not need to burden your children with philosophical declarations about wanting to die together. That can be frightening and can place an emotional responsibility on them that they neither want nor deserve.
But you do owe them clarity.
Talking with your children about how you want to live as you age, what quality of life means to you, who should make decisions if you can’t, and where important documents are kept is not morbid – it’s considerate. It reduces panic later and spares them from guessing under pressure.
What would be unfair is expecting your children to intuit your wishes only when crisis hits.
As for whether this way of thinking is selfish – the desire not to be alone at the end is not selfish. But emotionally leaving life too early can be.
There is a difference between acknowledging mortality and rehearsing your exit.
Advance care plans, powers of attorney and honest discussions about care preferences are acts of love. They give you a sense of control without forcing your children into impossible moral corners.
And one final thought, offered gently: life often surprises us. People who are convinced they couldn’t survive without their partner sometimes discover resilience, meaning and even joy they never imagined. That doesn’t diminish the love they shared. It honours it.
So no – you’re not wrong for having these conversations.
Just make sure they sit alongside conversations about how you want to live, stay connected and support each other for as long as possible. That, too, is part of loving well.
Bess Strachan is Starts at 60’s Sex & Relationships Writer. You can send any questions to Bess at community@startsat60.com