Talking about our end-of-life wishes isn’t about being morbid, writes Vickram Sethi
There are some conversations that sit quietly in the corners of our lives — the ones we tiptoe around, hoping they will somehow never be needed. Talking to our children about our death and our end of life wishes or what should happen when we are no longer here is one such conversation. It’s uncomfortable, heavy. We tell ourselves, not now, not today — we are fine and yet, deep down, we know it’s a conversation that must be had.
In many families, death remains an uninvited guest at the table — a subject brushed away with nervous laughter or an abrupt change of topic. “Why talk about such things?” children say, “You are not going anywhere!” For their generation, such conversations often carry a sense of bad luck, almost as if speaking about death might summon it.
For adult children, the hesitation is different. It’s not superstition — its emotion. The idea of discussing our death feels strangely cruel.
And yet, avoiding these conversations doesn’t protect us. It only delays what will eventually come — and often leaves behind confusion, anxiety, and regret.
Talking about our end-of-life wishes isn’t about being morbid. It’s practical and ensures that when the time comes, our children will hear our voices even though we no longer can speak for ourselves.
There are practical aspects — medical choices, living wills, financial instructions — but beyond the paperwork, it’s also about understanding how we want to be remembered, what gives us peace, and who we trust to make decisions on our behalf.
Often, parents feel that they should have made their wishes clearer to their family at an appropriate time. A son may struggle to decide whether to continue aggressive treatment for his ailing mother. A daughter may feel torn between doctors’ advice and her father’s quiet wish to come home. These moments are made lighter — not heavier — when wishes have been shared openly, long before they’re urgently needed.
There’s no perfect time to begin such a conversation. Waiting for one rarely helps. Often, the opportunity appears quietly — during a family gathering, after a health scare, or while sorting old photographs together. It’s in those unguarded moments, when emotions are gentle and the air feels honest, that the subject can be introduced softly.
You might begin with a story — perhaps of a friend or relative who recently passed away — and say something like, what would you do if something happened to us.
The first conversation rarely covers everything. It might last five minutes or drift away in silence. That’s fine. What matters is planting the seed — making it easy to talk about these things.
How to Begin the Conversation
There’s no perfect script, and that’s okay. What matters is the intention — to convey and to comfort.
Here are a few gentle ways to start:
Use a real event as a starter. A recent illness, a family friend’s passing, can open the door naturally. I want to convey to you what I would like you to do when such a situation may arise.
Talk about love. You could say, “Kids — I know this isn’t easy to talk about, but I love you and want to make sure you understand what’s important for me.”
Keep it practical. Discuss things like wills, medical decisions, or property wishes. Sometimes, starting with the tangible helps ease into the emotional.
Keep it easy. It may not be easy to convey everything at one time but make a start and you will be surprised how easy it is to talk about this later.
When parents begin to open up, the hardest part for children is the emotional discomfort.
Speak gently. Ask questions with care. Give instructions for example, “I don’t want to be kept on machines,” don’t counter argue with medical logic or reassurance. Instead, gently say, these are my wishes.
Sometimes, what parents really want isn’t control, but comfort — the assurance that their children will be all right, that their memories will live on in small rituals, stories, and laughter.
Practical planning might sound cold, but it can be deeply compassionate. Knowing where important documents are, who your doctors are, or what your last wishes might be is a gift of clarity for the entire family. It reduces chaos at a time when emotions will already be running high.
Jot down your wishes in writing — whether it’s a simple letter, a medical directive, or just notes tucked away safely. Help them understand finances or options like organ donation and funeral preferences.
You might also ask about the emotional side of their legacy — what values they hope to pass on, what memories they cherish most. Often, these conversations lead to moments of surprising closeness. Of course, not all seniors are ready. Some beliefs will cross that bridge when we come to it.
Sometimes, actions speak better than words. If you resist discussing your end of life wishes, gently handle the practicalities yourself — keep your documents organised, ensure their health records are updated, Let the names of your doctors be known to family.
In truth, these conversations aren’t just about your mortality. We often think avoiding the subject of death protects our children from fear. But in reality, it’s openness — not silence — that brings peace. These conversations can be tender rather than terrifying, filled with stories, humour, and even gratitude.
Ultimately, talking about death is not about death at all. It’s about love, trust, and the desire to protect each other even when words are running out.
It’s about acknowledging the full circle of life — the laughter, the years, the memories, and yes, the ending too. Because when we can speak openly about the end, we often find new gratitude for what’s still here.
So perhaps the question isn’t just “Have you spoken to your children about your death?”
Maybe it’s also “Have you spoken to them about your life?” — about the moments that shaped you, the dreams you chased, the things you would still like to do.
One day, those conversations will be treasures. They’ll echo in their hearts long after the voices have faded.
In the end, what we are really talking about is love in its most responsible form — love that plans, prepares, and honours the wishes of those who raised us.
