I've been saying I should have died at 75 for seven years now. I have a large group portrait of my family hanging on my wall. It was taken when I was just short of that age. My wife and myself, our two sons, our daughter-in law, and our twin grandsons. Everyone in it is in perfect health, happy, and doing well. If I had died then, my life would have been as perfect as it could ever be.
My wife is now gone, after three years of running her to dialysis three times a week. My younger son died after weeks of emotional turmoil from previously unsuspected alchoholism. My other son went through a nasty and ruinous divorce. Our daughter-in-law alienated her sons in the process, and ended a long, loving relationship with us. I, myself, am now hard of hearing, have developed ideopathic, peripheral neuropothy in my legs, and now walk perilously with the use of a cane. Every simple little task of daily living has become a physical challenge.
I am still able to care for myself. I still drive well. I see my son and grandsons. I still have some interests, but my life doesn't compare with when I was 75. No. I am not depressed or suicidal. Just making a realistic appraisal.