Before the Last Breath: Why Wait to Speak the Words That Matter?

On this Memorial Day, as we remember those who have passed from this life—whether in service or through the quiet attrition of time—may we also remember to speak what matters while we still can.

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I’ve been thinking about death lately—that quiet but certain visitor that keeps showing up for relatives of people I love, for my own relatives, and eventually, of course, for me. It seems right to ponder this now, so that when the visitor comes, I might have the wisdom and strength to speak of the grace I’ve encountered in this life.

And so I wonder: what will I say if I’m gifted with a few last breaths—just enough to utter the coda after a lifetime of all the things that lifetimes bring?

If I am granted that chance, I imagine my parting words will come in two paragraphs: one shaped by sorrow, the other by love.

The First Paragraph

To my dear children, I will want to say I’m sorry—for the times I was too rigid, too focused on career, too distracted to remember how bewildering the teenage years can be. I’m sorry for moving you across the country for a professional opportunity that should never have superseded you. Jackson Browne sang it well: "No matter how fast I run, I can never seem to get away from me."

To Lisa, my wife—whether or not you are still here to hear me—I will have more words of regret. I should have listened better to you, and sooner, and defended my point of view less vigorously. I am sorry.

To others I have harmed along life’s way, please know it was never intentional. Apart from a few words impulsively spoken to Lisa, and that haunting childhood conflict with my sister where I was clearly the aggressor, I don’t think I’ve ever tried to cause harm to another human being. Still, I have misread social cues with alarming regularity and I know others have been wounded as a result.

To those who have harmed me, it may have been accidental for you, too. If not, perhaps I was collateral damage in some noble intention you perceived and pursued. Either way, I know you have value and goodness in your soul.

Forgiveness is a big word to set alongside harm, but wherever we find ourselves on that ledger, I hope we're moving in the right direction. And as our last days loom, I hope we somehow know.

But I may only have energy for a few sentences, and I don’t want to spend them all on regret and sorrow.

The Second Paragraph

Of all the blessings life has brought, there is nothing so precious as the love of family and friends. However cliché this may be, it needs saying.

To my children, you bring me such immense delight. I’ve known your smiles, your eyes, your quirks longer than anyone in this world, save one. I’ve swelled with pride watching how you move through the world. One of the greatest honors of my life has been knowing you—and loving you from the depths of my being. Thank you for partnering with such good people, and for the children you’ve brought into this complex world. I love them so.

To Lisa, dear partner, I can't say if I want you to be around to hear my final words or not because death will surely be easier for the one who dies first. Love is a word we wear thin through overuse, but wrapped around this long love I have known for you--since junior high school, really--are gratitude and admiration beyond what words can carry. You make the world beautiful.

To my sister, who has known me longer than anyone, thank you for walking with me through so many of life’s joys and sorrows. I will honor and remember our parents, too—likely gone—for the values they passed on, the hardships they faced, and the many ways they shaped us.

An oft-cited proverb reads, "there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." I've never had a brother, but I do have those sorts of friends. You know who you are, and you know that "thank you" could never be enough.

To other friends, extended family, colleagues, former students, and those in my faith community, I am grateful for the way our lives have crossed, often criss-crossing repeatedly. Thank you for ushering me into moments of grace that have summed to a lifetime of blessing.

Why Wait?

Some years ago there were T-shirts and bumper stickers that read: “Life is short. Eat dessert first.”

Well, maybe. But I hope we can have dessert after dinner, too.

By way of analogy, maybe it’s best to speak these final words long before death. Why wait? Words of sorrow and gratitude might bless others now even more than they will later. But later is good too.

However predictable it may be to say words of sorrow and thanks at the end of life, I hope to speak them anyway. And even if I’m not afforded the opportunity in my final breaths, I do have it today.

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This post is part of my ongoing reflection on how grace swirls in life and death. If you’re interested, here’s more on the journey of slowing down and turning toward our best selves.

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