WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR LAST WORDS TO BE?
Anton Chechov
I’ve always been drawn to hearing and reading about people’s last words - their final proclamation before taking one last breath. It could be something to do with loving punchlines. Or it could be that I’m just macabre.
Either way, the playwright Anton Chekhov didn’t disappoint on his deathbed. His final words were: “It’s never too late for a glass of champagne”. And the poet, Sir John Betjeman, complained, “I didn’t have enough sex.”
Then, there are the last words that went wrong, like William Pitt’s, who, minutes after delivering the immortal line, “My country! Oh my country”, turned to a friend and cheerfully said: “I think I could eat one of Bellamy’s veal pies.” With that, he popped off - his last words relegated to second last words. And his actual last words – the set up for a joke.
Playwright Henrick Ibsen died mid-argument – “on the contrary” – he countered before passing on. And poet Rupert Brooke, while dying of food-poisoning, looked up to greet his friend and said weakly: “Hello.”
Rupert Brooke
It’s important we not put too much pressure on ourselves to come up with death zingers because if we’re lucky enough to be dying in a bed surrounded by the people we love, we’ll probably be in a state of exhaustion. Our bodies will be shutting down, we’ll have reduced lung capacity, and an exceptionally dry mouth.
Communications Profession at Texas State University and author of Final Conversation, Maureen Keeley, says if your dying loved one isn’t in a state of delirium, then they’re likely to only have enough energy to whisper single words.
While researching her book, Keeley spoke to doctors and nurses who reported many patients simply saying “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck.”
Other last words included names of family members or, in the case of a lot of men, “Mummy!”
My Dad’s last words were, “Son, I’m dying. I’m dying.” After that, he did speak, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Frustrated at not being able to form words with his mouth, he typed out something on his Ipad and turned it around for me to look at. It was just a bunch of random letters. This was from a man who authored 20 books and was writing beautifully coherent emails only eight hours before.
Adam and Desmond Zwar
So last words appear to be as idiosyncratic as human nature itself – although I can imagine I’ll fall into the “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck” category. That sounds like me.
My favourite final word is from a certain Dr Joseph Green. His surgeon examined him and said simply: “Congestion.” Dr Green wasn’t convinced. He took his own pulse, waited for a second and said equally crisply: “Stopped.” Turns out he was dead right – and dead.
Adam Zwar’s memoir, Twelve Summers, is available here