The Last Words

From her pillow, she said, “I believe in the music…”

And then closed her eyes, and said no more.

These were the last words ever breathed by my dear friend’s mother.  It’s with utter respect and permission that I repeat these words here.

I often think about last moments, about the last of things.  The last kiss in the morning. The last tight hug in the airport drop-off lane. The last wave goodbye through a windshield.

An open conversation with my friend began over a spontaneous glass of wine, but how that conversation swirled into the last words of loved ones, I can’t recall.

Assuredly, we were sitting at a friendly neighbourhood bar, steadying the course for genuine heart-to-hearts that night.  Not the heart-to-hearts that feel heavy or anxiously anticipated, but the random, accidental catch-ups that run like a river towards meaningful moments.

The “Hey, how are you?”’s that tumble into a chat about this, and a banter about that. Each exchange striking deeper at the heart of things, until the open air is alight with memories, laughter, admiration, inspiration, and long-time kinship.

The moments that can unwittingly steer us into reflecting on the last words of loved ones.

And moments that next roll us into deeper waters, reflecting on what could be our own last words. What words will we leave behind? Will our words be purposeful? Or at least weighty enough to commandeer a bar-room chat years later?

My friend’s father’s last words were less poetic, but impactful all the same and relayed in a way that the instructions were unmistakable.

With his last breath, he said, “Go have fun.”

The father’s quote, from my perspective, sets one free.  Get out of here, go lose yourself.  Go dance, go sing, go laugh.  Go have fun.

The mother’s, it seems to me, turns one inward.  Deep dives us into connection with what feels real to us, with what we believe in. After all, it’s our beliefs that navigate our soul, influence our decisions, and impact those we are close to. Without knowing our beliefs, we can only expect to float through life.

Her mother’s words are inspirational but also private. A mantra, maybe. An explanation. Maybe a personal rally-cry that needs no hearing, needs no following. Just a clear, open declaration of who she was and what she believed in. A declaration of what mattered in her life.

In truth, neither of their treasured last words are for me to define. But both create a deep feeling of connection. One connection that flourishes outward (“go have fun”) and one connection nourished inward (“I believe in the music”).

What a gift our last words can be.

I don’t know if either parent knew their time was coming and which of their words would be their last.

If I knew my time was coming, I’d journal like hell to get all I wanted to say written down so that everything I felt was important for my world to understand, for my family to know, and for my friends to remember was certain to land.  I’d probably worry that I had left something out or forgotten somebody. Or that I would run out of time before I was able to say all I wanted to say. I’d burn to get every last drop of ink onto pages that would find their way to those who mattered to me the most.

But writing our last words is not the same as speaking our last words.

If given the opportunity to choose which 5 ot 6 spoken words would be my last, I would most certainly overthink it.

And, as life would have it, had I prepared my last words, I’d probably forfeit that claim and leave this world in my sleep. My actual last words likely to be more instructive to someone else in the room.  Like,  “turn out the light”, or “buenas noches”.

If I were home alone, it would probably be, “Love you, Tino, love you, Roo” as I turn down the lights on my sleepy animals.  My words would be meaningful, but likely less than profound or inspiring.

(And yes, I tell my animals goodnight. Because when you live alone and have no children, your animals are your kids. I’m sure I have a few scoffers out there, as I vulnerably offer that statement. But I’m also sure there will be a few camaraderic hands shooting up in the air too. Kids or no kids, pets are family.)

But I digress.  I was pondering the gravity of the last words a human will ever share in this world.  I don’t think we can plan them.

Not even if we’ve spent years in self-reflection, walking with a slow knowingness towards the last days.  Not even if we’re writers with infinite words at our fingertips.

I write 1000 words every morning.  Every morning.  Lately, most of my words haven’t graduated to publishing status. Plenty of words are written. Pages worth. But not too many I’ve been happy with enough to share. It’s a “quality over quantity” belief that keeps me honest.

My written words have taken the form of my next book (“Tino & Roo” – a series of children’s books), which is close to the illustration stage. I’ve started an online newsletter for my community in Nicaragua called Viva Iguana, which has grown wildly in a short time. But my polished, mildly presentable words in blog form just haven’t been worthy enough to see the sun.

But again, there is a conscious planning that accompanies the written word. The meaning is intended by the writer before the word is read.  Spoken words are words set free in the moment, their meaning settled in the ears of those who hear them.

In the end, the literal end, I suppose we can’t plan our last words or control what people remember we said. I wish we could.

I suppose what matters is the feeling we leave others with.  The last words that made us feel alive with them – that tie us to them in beyond worldly ways.

Words that create reflection and connection.  Words that promote healing.  Words that carry on living.

Words that resound in perfect alignment with our memory of who they were.

The words we speak matter.  The words we speak last matter. Planning them or not, it’s clear we don’t have much sway over what our last spoken words will be.

Perhaps the only way to ensure the last words we speak land where they should is to just live our words every day anyway. This is the only way our last words will make any positive imprint once we’re gone. Speak our truth. Speak with love.

If we don’t, our last words might be heavy with regret or disconnected from how we truly feel about our own life, or how we feel towards our loved ones looking after us.

I believe if we live our lives in truth, as much as possible, our last words will ring of this truth.

Which means that our last words would be the last thing we should worry about.

Because then, our last words we can trust will speak for themselves.  Our last words will reflect who we are and how we lived without the need for a script.

Our last words will be the final seal on this life and carry the depth of their meaning to whoever is left behind, and is listening.

~ Christy

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