I wanted it then. I still want it now.
To not die old and withered, wasting away on a bed, suffering from the geriatric ailment du jour.
So how do I want to die? Jumping out of a plane on a skydiving trip. Coming down from a hike in the mountains. Losing myself among the ruins of an ancient civilization.
Or if it is imperative that I should die on a bed, then it should be after I've had the hottest, heaviest, most mind-blowing sex in my entire life.
That's how I want to go. When I am truly alive, because anticlimaxes are boring and utterly forgettable.