If your mother is no longer alive, what were her last words to you?
Jerry Davich
Did she say she loved you? Did she say goodbye? Or was it something more casual? Was she coherent of the magnitude of the situation?
My mom passed away two years ago and I’ve been asking myself this question since her last breath, which took place in my presence.
I had just placed a yellow tulip next to her pillow on a bed inside her hospice room. It was an early Mother’s Day gift, continuing a tradition I started as a child with a stolen tulip from a neighbor’s yard. I knew my mother would not be around a month later for her special holiday. In fact, she wouldn’t be around just a minute later.
While pondering that stolen moment, I looked over to my mom and noticed her left index finger moving. It was just a twitch, but until that time she had made no movements since she was admitted into a local hospice near my home.Ìý
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No words. No movements. Nothing.
I jumped up from my chair and grabbed my phone to capture the moment. I didn’t want to miss anything.Ìý
“Hi, Mom. Are you there?†I asked while video recording her reaction.
My mother was obsessed with national politics.
I was the only family member in her room at the time after 11 days of round-the-clock vigils to never leave her alone. She was present for every milestone in our lives, from family births to couple’s weddings to relative’s deaths. My entire family felt compelled to be present for her last days. We took turns spending the night in her room. During the day, everyone returned to be together, sharing meals and memories near her bed.Ìý
We talked to her as if she was listening because we hoped she was. We also laughed, cried and shared our days as she peacefully rested.Ìý
“Your mom is tired,†a doctor told me in a hospital hallway. I knew what he was trying to tell me without actually telling me. It was time.Ìý
The last day at the hospice center, I didn’t know that moment at her bedside would be my final exchange with my mom. Her finger didn’t move again but her eyes opened a bit more. Her head moved ever so slightly. Her mouth closed then opened once more.Ìý
A second later, my mom took her final breath of life before beginning her journey into death.
My mother believed that the end of her life would come with a comma, not a period. As a longtime student of quantum physics and spiritual dimensions, she believed everything is happening all at once on endless planes of existence.
Todd Lewis scowled when he first saw my new Schwinn Sting-Ray Fastback bicycle.
As I stared into her empty eyes, I kissed her forehead, twice, just as she did with my big brother when he died in 2009. We said goodbye to him in a hospital emergency room. I just stared at his body. But my mother knew what to do, leaning down to kiss his forehead, twice, and say “I love you.â€
My similar goodbye to my mom felt like the right thing to do, possibly a new family tradition amid the threshold of love, tears and grief.
She died April 22, 2023, at 12:06 p.m., reflecting her birth date, 12/06. Every day she was in the hospital or hospice, she was never alone. And, in turn, we will never be alone in our lives. Her memory will always be with us, around the clock. (Read my at .)
But for the life of me, I can’t recall her last verbal words to me. I’ve been thinking about this for two years. Was it something she mentioned in her home? Or in the car ride to the ER? Or at the hospital? It’s been haunting me like a ghost that only I can see.
On the recent anniversary date of my mother’s death, I asked my social media readers the same question: What were your mother’s last words to you? They shared dozens of responses, including “Thank you,†“Please visit me after I’m gone,†“Go do you now,†“Do you have to go?†and “You’re a good nurse.â€
Other remembrances from friends were, “It’s raining, drive careful,†“I don’t have any pain†“Tell your siblings to visit me†and “See you tomorrow.†(Read them all on )
Though I can’t recall my mom’s final words, I deeply feel her lasting legacy of love for my family. We continue to talk about her every day. We think of her every moment. We share photos and memories of her on a family group text thread. Some make us laugh. Some make us cry.Ìý
This is the beauty and the heartbreak of losing a mother or a father.
My mom may be gone, but her gentle voice can be heard in my head any time I want or need it. If your mom is still in your life, I strongly suggest you listen to what she tells you, even if it seems meaningless at times. Someday, her words will mean more than you may think.
