Recently my daughter and her family went on vacation—a vacation that required boarding an airplane and spending several hours flying to their destination. And then back home. Each time, she called me once they were in their seats to let me know they were about to take off and again when they landed. She did that because it’s something I’ve requested (translate that as required) whenever either of my children travel. I’ve always told them their call immediately before takeoff lets me know when to start worrying and the call upon landing tells me I can stop.
Like mothers ever stop worrying . . . so there really isn’t a need to tell them when to start.
The truth of the matter is, I’m a bit on the morbid side. Given my upbringing . . . and my training as a funeral professional . . . that shouldn’t be surprising. It has made me very aware. Aware that each time I see someone may be the last time I see them. Aware that my parting words to someone may truly be my parting words. It doesn’t matter if it’s my demise or theirs . . . there will always be a last time.
And I want my last words to anyone to be spoken in kindness—and for my children to be “I love you”.
So, when she called before takeoff, I told her to tell the pilot he wasn’t allowed to fall out of the sky. She informed me she had not seen the pilot and probably wouldn’t. I wished them a safe flight and a fun time. After all, they were traveling with a five-year-old, who mostly travels well, but there are always those moments when he doesn’t. Then I told her I loved her. And she told me she loved me, too.
It seems like such a little thing. But it means so very much.
We often make a big deal about the last words of people, especially if those people are well-known. You can google “famous last words” and website after website will magically appear. Multiple lists will be offered for your perusal and consideration. Sometimes those words were uttered with the full knowledge that Death was waiting just outside the door, but many times his arrival was a complete surprise. Take Elvis for instance. The last words anyone ever heard him speak were, “I’m going to the bathroom to read.” Or the great basketball player, “Pistol” Pete Marovich who collapsed during a pick-up game, right after saying, “I feel great!” Neither had a clue that Death was so close at hand. But those who did often took that moment to express their love. Vince Lombardi, Michael Landon, and John Wayne all used their last breath to tell their family, or particularly their spouse, that they loved them.
It shouldn’t take the prospect of a permanent departure to encourage kindness and the expression of love, but all too often that’s exactly what’s required. I, for one, hope that any last words I'm allowed will reflect how much the person hearing them meant to me. Especially when I don’t know they are my last. I’m not always good at it. But I’m trying.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
