
There comes a moment in life – usually sometime after 60, when the temples grey and perspective sharpens – when you realise you’ve been to more funerals than weddings. And somewhere between the eulogies, the hymns, the photo montages and the sandwiches, a question begins to form:
When my time comes… how do I want to be farewelled?
It’s a topic we’ve explored before on Starts at 60 through our iDecide Conversation series, because planning the last chapter of your story isn’t morbid – it’s empowering. It is, in fact, one of the last great acts of self-expression. And if there’s one thing over-60s know better than anyone, it’s that expressing yourself becomes more important with age, not less.
The Quiet Exit vs The Big Show
Some people dream of a quiet goodbye – something simple, solemn and intimate. A handful of loved ones, a few gentle words, perhaps a favourite poem. No fuss. No spectacle. Just the closing of a life well lived.
Then there are the others. The “send me off with a party” crowd. The ones who want a soundtrack, a slideshow that would make Spielberg proud, and a packed room of people laughing through their tears.
Both approaches are perfectly valid. Both are deeply personal. And both say something about who we are – and who we’ve been.
Me? I’ve Thought About It.
I hate to admit it, but I’ve actually given this way too much thought – probably more time than I’ve given to choosing retirement investments. And because we’re all among friends here, I’ll share it with you.
My farewell playlist is already sorted. And it is, I suspect, not what the funeral industry traditionally expects.
I want to start with I Believe by Brooks & Dunn – mostly because of the beautiful line: “You can’t tell me it all ends in a slow ride in a hearse.”
A little irony never hurt anybody.
Then I want a grin from the crowd as Always Look on the Bright Side of Life from Life of Brian kicks in. If the whistling doesn’t lift the mood, nothing will.
Then shift gears into something heartfelt: Life Is Beautiful by Keb’ Mo’ — a reminder that even with its imperfections, life is an extraordinary gift.
Then Bruce Springsteen’s Waiting on a Sunny Day — a song about optimism, second chances and hope. Because why shouldn’t a funeral have hope in it?
And when the moment comes for the final curtain – as the curtains close at the crematorium – I want Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.
Is it too on-the-nose? Absolutely.
Does that make it perfect? Also absolutely.
Why Talk About This at All?
Because these decisions matter. Not for us – we’ll be gone – but for the people who love us. Funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living.
When we leave this world with a clear set of instructions, we leave behind something more valuable than money or heirlooms. We leave clarity. We leave comfort. And we leave our family free from the guesswork of trying to figure out what we would have wanted in the middle of their grief.
That’s why Starts at 60 created the iDecide Conversation series – to give people permission to talk openly and honestly about these things. To normalise the uncomfortable. To make planning your farewell as thoughtful and personalised as planning your retirement or writing your will.
Your Farewell, Your Way
Whether you favour a quiet chapel and a simple hymn or a foot-tapping, full-volume celebration of your 80 years on Earth … it’s your call. And the way to make sure your call is honoured is to write it down.
Tell someone.
Better yet, tell everyone who needs to know.
And if you want to lock it in securely, put it in your iDecide plan so it’s unmissable.
Your favourite songs. Your preferred setting. The tone you want. The photos you love (and the ones you’d never allow on a slideshow under any circumstances). Whether you want people in black … or Hawaiian shirts. Whether you want tears … or laughter.
This isn’t about death.
It’s about authorship.
It’s about claiming the final paragraph of your story.
So… How Will You Go?
Quietly and solemnly?
Or loud, proud, and maybe with Johnny Cash singing you into the great unknown?
Whichever you choose, make it yours.
Because you have spent your whole life shaping your story – why not shape the ending too?