the last words

When I read the New York Times article “1 Million Deaths, Eight Last Texts,” which printed the last texts between COVID victims and their loved ones, l cried.  I suspect ― I hope ― that many others cried too.  I hope this because I want to live in a world where we grieve for the pain of others.  And a world where a worldwide tragedy that kills millions at least helps us appreciate both the privilege and the fragility of our time here.

COVID taught me that I always need to consider whether my words are the right ones if they turn out to be my last ones.  And as those texts show with such emotional force, these last words may not be the ones that I say as I die; the last words may be the ones I say to a loved one before they die.

My father died on May 8, 2022.   To watch a parent die is heart-wrenching and tears at your insides ― time is both too fast (there is never enough time to say everything in your heart) and time is much, much too slow (the ten minutes between morphine doses last forever when it is that morphine that is the difference between a death of minimal pain and fear and a death marked by terror).   

But in the end, I was incredibly lucky to have had time with my dad to find “the right words.”  To hold his hand and to stroke his arm.  To hug my siblings with whom I shared our collective grief.  To do anything I could to ensure that my dad passed knowing that he was surrounded by love.

In the end, the only “right words” ― for me ― were “I love you.”  As my father took his last breaths, I know that he could not hear me repeating those words over and over again.  But I hope that somehow he was able to feel them.  All across New York City and across the world, many families didn’t have the chance to say their own “right words” at all.  Or if they did, those words had to be in texts and could not be said while holding a hand or stroking a loved one’s hair.  I experienced the most painful moment of my life on May 8 ― but I am incredibly lucky to have had that moment.  I know that it is a moment that the families of COVID victims would give anything for.

Perhaps the most meaningful way to honor the dead is to try to remember the preciousness of our words and our ability to communicate them. Words can be arrows, bullets and blows. But they can also be embraces, bandages and caresses Each of us says the wrong words sometimes. But each day is another opportunity to say the right ones. The chance to say the right words is a privilege beyond all others.

On May 8, I discovered that the only last words that were right (for me) were “I love you.”  What are your right words?