...And if we died happy?

In “Father and son”, one of my favorite Cat Stevens’ songs, a verse goes like this: “Look at me, I am old but I'm happy” and challenges the assumption that aging is declining and leads me to say “Sounds good, and from there what about dying happy?” 

This can be seen as the outcome of my recent blog on a similar subject and it just sounds like a much better alternative to the doom and gloom associated with death. It's certainly much preferable to most of the religious views I’ve heard about death, when it’s an inescapable step that we must fear because of its uncertainty, hellish consequences or for a very few lucky of us that lead a perfect existence, an eternal life of peaceful boredom in total seclusion from anything fun and exciting! 

So with this in mind, what does it take to die happy? While this is a rather provocative question, it’s one that deserves more than platitudes or tidy answers. “Dying happy” isn’t just a poetic notion; it’s a philosophical challenge, a personal reckoning, and maybe even a quiet rebellion against these fear-based narratives that often surround death. In Cat Stevens’ song it suggests that joy can deepen, even as the body slows. 

That’s a powerful lens for thinking about death: not as a tragic ending, but as the final chapter of a well-lived story. To die happy could mean feeling complete, perhaps not necessarily having done everything, but having done enough of what mattered. It’s also being at peace with our choices, our relationships, our regrets. Then there’s what we leave behind, our legacy, memories and enough kindness that can ripple outward. There’s also having loved and having been loved, maybe deeply, imperfectly, but truly. 

At that point, we are much better equipped to face death without dread, not because we’re fearless, but because we’ve brought some meaning into our lives. It shouldn’t be about perfection or sainthood, but about integration or the sense that our life, with all its mess and beauty, added up to something that felt real and worthwhile. 

The next obvious question is what will it take us to get there? Here’s where our curiosity and our reflective nature will have a chance to shine. Consider these ingredients, like choosing what matters, even in small ways, in what we say, what we forgive, what we pursue. It’s also about cultivating presence by being present, now and not always chasing or regretting something. 

I would add making peace with imperfection by accepting that some things will remain unresolved, and that we will be okay. We’ll also be able to add happiness by connecting meaningfully, with people, with ideas, with the world. Even the shortest moments of connection can echo very far. Finally it will be about letting go borrowed fears, especially those handed down to us by dogma or culture. Our own truth is worth more!