Yesterday we buried a lady just one year older than mom (her birthday is tomorrow). My brother died three years ago at the age of 50. Death is no respecter of age — or perhaps age is no respecter of longevity. Age merely registers years and has no authority over life and death.
Perhaps, if we had the foresight, we could begin to count our age backwards from death. Some of us would start of at 22 years, others at 93. We might even make the most of our lives (sadly, I think we would probably gauge our age and do whatever we wanted until the countdown became critical).