Share Your Loved One’s Last Words


Become a contributor to the Sarah’s Last Words project (Read Book Description.)

You are invited to share the last words spoken to you by your loved ones.

Select COMMENTS under this post to contribute last words. Enclose it in quotes (e.g., “Always take care of your grandmother”}, or you can paraphrase what you remember to the best of your ability. If you wish, include what your relationship was to the person who spoke them to you, the circumstances, and how their final words have impacted your life.

Select quotes are planned to be included in the book or film. Perhaps, if a generous amount of stories are contributed, they may be included as a separate chapter, or at the beginning or end of each chapter, or even in a film. Please indicate the name you would like used in a credit or if you want to be credited as “Anonymous.”

Also, you can read stories people are posting on Facebook: I had my dad’s last smile . . . I will treasure that moment for the rest of my life. — Facebook Friend

Thank you in advance for sharing last words.

Love, light and peace,


DEADLINE: T0-be-determined


  • Entries selected for publication in SARAH’S LAST WORDS will require expressed permission by you to use the story content for the book in any format, including audio, electronic or print publication, and documentary film. Selected entries will be posted on the SARAH’S LAST WORDS BOOK blog and we will contact you via email to secure your permission.
  • Be sure to enter your email address when posting your entry to receive permission requests and notification when the audio, e-book and print versions are published and available.
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14 Responses to Share Your Loved One’s Last Words

  1. Val Oliver says:

    I don’t remember the last words spoken to me by anyone. Three close family members have passed: my mother, both my grandmothers, and my grandfather. I carried guilt for years about leaving my mother’s bedside when she begged me to stay. She was so weak and barely whispered the words. So, I think the last words I may have heard as I walked away may have been her asking me not to leave. I am planning to undergo hypnosis to recover those last minutes and words for this book.

  2. Russel Blake says:

    It is so very interesting to me that I received the invitation to share my “last words” experience on the anniversary eve of my Mothers transition home to GOD.

    Twenty seven years ago today, September 7th 1983 I was in Helsinki, Finland performing on stage with Sonny Rollins at the very hour of her passing. The bond, energy and connection between my Mom and I was so very strong that the brand new bass amplifier I was playing through went out multiple times during the 120 minute concert at the very hour of her transition.

    The techs were dumbfounded and scurrying about checking the sources of electricity and frantically changing fuses in and out of the brand new amplifier. Nevertheless, the amplifier continued to go out during the concert. It was not until the very next day when I flew back home to New York that my Dad in sharing among the many details of the event (informed me of the very hour of her transition) that I realized that it was the same hour (Helsinki time) I was on stage performing, thus metaphysically explaining the cause of the amplifier going out for no “earthly” reason. Prior to leaving the hotel for the concert, I called as was my spiritual ritual when on the road and spoke to my Mom by phone. She was very sick suffering from asthma and having the most difficult time breathing. She expressed her concern for me and inquired how the european tour was going. I was moved that in spite of all she was going through she was “still” being the ever compassionate Mom that I knew and loved.

    I informed her that this is the last concert of the tour and that I would be on the first flight home the next morning. In her embattled attempts to breathe the last words of what I remember were “Alright Son, I love you”… I can still hear her voice in the treasury of my mind as I write. When I hung up the phone I had the most eerie feeling drape itself upon me. I felt the strongest instinct to immediately call her back and say to her, “I love you Mom”. My inability to do that was due to having folks knocking at my hotel room door to inform me that the cars were here, please come down to the lobby, everyone was waiting for me. I stilled tried desperately to reach her, but the difficulty of trying to get a international AT&T operator on the line proved to difficult.

    So I left for work knowing that I would be back home tomorrow anyway and would simply see her then. When I returned home the next day my home was filled with people and when I told my Dad I was going upstairs to see Mom, he took me out to the backyard and with great difficulty informed me that she went home to GOD yesterday about 45 minutes after speaking w/me. He also informed me that the minute she hung up the phone with me that it rang again and it was my Brother Alex calling from Indianapolis where he was about to go onstage to perform as bassist with the Manhattan Transfer jazz group.

    One last note. When I called Sonny Rollins to inform him of what had occurred and how he would have to find another bassist for the gig the following week in Montana, he was devastated by the news. Within his heartfelt condolences, he subsequently informed me that he like I, shared a very special bond with his own Mother. Later on in the conversation did he share that my Mother’s transition coincided with his birthday the day before and how it would be one that he would now never forget.

    I write this to you not really knowing why. Just still trying to connect the dots of healing so necessary for moving on in one’s life after losing/missing someone so integral and near and dear to your life/heart/soul. Thank you for this opportunity to share. To GOD Be The Glory. Peace.

  3. Sue Birkam says:

    My mother was a fighter and the glue that bound us. All week leading up to her death she would exclaim to her nine adult children , one by one “you know, your Dad and I will be married 40 years on this coming Friday”. We would nod. Day after day we watched her struggle from her hospital bed. She would weakly ask to be sat up in bed and you could see that she was fighting to stay, for something, for a reason. That Friday, my Mother and Father’s 40th anniversary arrived. We were all gathered bedside to celebrate as best we could. Warmly kissing and hugging her before we left assured by the doctor’s and nurses that she was stable for the evening and we were safe to leave. They told us they would call us if anything changed. That evening around 1:00 AM my father received the call. She went quietly, alone with a nurse standing by her side. As I remember that is how she said she wanted to go. She didn’t want witnesses to her death , but witnesses to her life. She decided when it was time to go as she was always the decision maker. She waited until Friday so she could claim this last milestone of being married forty years.

  4. Rachel says:

    I remember the last time I saw Mrs. Ritchie. She was lying in bed at her assisted living facility in Shreveport, La. I was visting my parents with my two girls, and we all decided to go visit her.
    Aunt Lou was in late stage alzheimers, and did well to remember any names or even carry a long conversation. As we came into the room, she smiled from ear to ear and said she knew we were someone very special to her. My mom and I sat on the bed with her and she talked with us a while and then she shocked us by saying, “All we need now is little Megan”. Megan is my younger sister.
    She knew who we were!!!!
    She had a few very lucid moments, and told us how precious we were and how much she loved us. She got to meet both of my girls and then God moved me.
    I felt that all familiar tug, and God told me to pray with her.
    I took her hand and asked her if I could pray with her. She answered, “of course”. I let God lead my words as I prayed over Aunt Lou. As I finished I felt a great deal of peace and Louise said to me, “That was worth more than a million dollars to me”.
    As I left that day, I had a sinking feeling that it would be the last time I would see the woman I know as Aunt Lou here in this world–and it was. But God had given me peace, and we will be reunited in heaven.
    My first book in a series entitled Aunt Lou’s Kitchen was official released yesterday. My goal with these works is to make it easier for parents to include God and scriptures into the every-day explanations they give thier children while also honoring the memory of this precious woman.
    My next book “Tell Me About Easter, Aunt Lou?” includes these very last words of this amazing woman.
    Rachel Stolle

  5. Gina Dee says:

    It was several years between the passing of my parents. My mother went first. We had gone to visit her at the hospital 30 mins. from home. My sister and I decided we would go home. I don’t remember why, but the plan was to leave and then go back later. I remember my dad saying, “No, I’m going to stay”. My sister and I looked at each other, thinking his statement was odd. Nonetheless, we decided to go and would return later to pick him up. No sooner did we get in the door than the phone was ringing. It was my father, telling us that if we wanted to see her before she passed we had better get back soon. We picked up my Aunt Dee and went back. Daddy sat in a chair near the bed, holding her hand. My sister sat near the window and my Aunt was at the head of the bed. From the corner of my eye I could see her keep checking my Mom’s vitals. I was sitting at the foot of the bed, gently stroking her leg. Mommy had suffered tremendously during the last stages of her illness and even though you never want a loved one to leave, sometimes you know it’s best, knowing they will no longer suffer. She was talking incoherently and I remember watching her take her last breath. We had to wait for the nurse to come and make the pronouncement. As I sat there, still touching her leg, I saw a bright light coming from the bathroom doorway. I saw her get up and cross through that doorway. She turned around and looked at the vessel laying on the bed. I heard her, as clearly as if having a conversation with someone, as she said, “Phew! I’m glad I’m outta there”. With that, she turned and walked into the light.

  6. Gina Dee says:

    I had a dream two nights before my father died. He was lying in his hospital bed at home. He sat up on his own at the edge of the bed. He said, “Gina, I’m tired”. I said, “I know, Daddy. It’s o.k.”. He stood up of his own accord (which is something he hadn’t done in a long time) and I remembered thinking to myself that I had forgotten how tall he actually was. He walked through the kitchen and headed to the front door. He said, “Your Mama’s waiting for me” and I told him it was o.k. if he was ready to go. We walked to the front door and I grabbed a down vest that was hanging in the hallway. I handed it to him and said, “You’d better take this. It’s cold”. I put it on him and opened the door for him. He turned around and said, “Thank you” and then I woke up from the dream. Hearing your loved one’s last words doesn’t always translate into an actual conversation in this realm. His physical last words to me & my sister were, “Look out for each other”. But I know that dream was his way of telling me he was ready to go and my way of telling him it was o.k.

    • Gina, I love your knowing that there is more than one realm for communication and for reminding people of this with your story. This has me considering the words my mother spoke to me during my near death experience which I have not considered to be last words. Thanks for expanding my consciousness to include this possibility. Lovely, you.

  7. Jacquelyn Knapp Talley says:

    As the baby of the family, I felt it was an honor to take on the challenge of caring for my aging mother the last seven years of her life. Our bond was closer than that with any of my siblings, the first born when she was barely 17. During those last years of her life, she endured colon cancer surgeries, a stroke, and congestive heart failure. She was frail, but “smiled through” with a raucous sense of humor and great vanity. We knew my beautiful, free-spirited mother had one toe on “the other side” about two weeks before she died. At 86, she had never left the house without at least a swipe of coral lipstick and pale blue eyeshadow to match her eyes. But during those last few days, she didn’t read her hundreds of books…didn’t watch her beloved Rockford Files on TV…didn’t really care about cosmetics. Just laid in her bed, thinking, smiling, remembering. On October 9, 2000, she looked at me and said “John Lennon would be 60 today.” Shocked, I said “How did you know that?” “He told me.” An hour later, she said “Dad says I look tired. And so does Ruth.” Well – my dad had been gone 40 years and 3 days; and my Aunt Ruth, Mom’s favorite sister, died in 1979. For the next couple of days, Mom told me in amazing detail about the tough times during the Depression, how much she loved and missed the only man she ever loved, and how I really needed to grow my hair out. But the morning of October 12, she was babbling in German and called me “Mama,” because I look so much like the grandmother I never knew. She was shutting down quickly. Later that evening, at the hospital, Mom was alert and asking for her makeup – because her doctor was coming to see her. I gave her a dose of glamour; she looked beautiful, and told me she felt so much better. But when it was time for her breathing treatment, the nurse said “This would be a good time for you to go home and get some rest. She’s good now.” I glanced at my beautiful, ornery mother, who was waving goodbye to me with a smile in those big blue eyes. I kissed her on the cheek while the nurses tended to her, and she simply said “Thanks, honey….I’ll see you later, I love you.” I had just walked in my front door when the phone rang – she was gone. Her legacy of humor, creativity, love of nature and weather, and those big round china-blue eyes live on through two generations thus far. I miss you, Helen “Hell-On” Wheels!

    • You know how to capture time, Jackie. You really do. For some reason, I feel your mother real strong right now and feel I must say these words to you in reply to your post here: “Thanks, honey.”

  8. Jacquelyn Knapp Talley says:

    I forgot a detail that was a signature “Mom moment!” About three days before she died, when she was listless and recounting so many long-time memories, our doctor had told me candidly that I needed to have “the talk” with her. I said “Talk? What talk!?” He said “You need to tell her that if she’s ready to go, that it’s OK. Tell her you’ll be fine – she’s being a mother by not letting herself go because she’s worried about you.” So a night or so before the end, while tucking her in for the night and having a cup of tea with her, I took a deep breath and held her manicured hand and said “Mom, it’s – it’s – OK. I’m going to be OK. When you’re ready, you can – go….” I was trying not to cry. But the moment collapsed when she rared her head back, scorched me with those eyes, and retorted “And just where the hell am I going??!” We traded a couple of “terms of endearment” best left unprinted, and as I turned out her overhead light, she was looking at me and chuckling. She knew what I had tried to say. She was, after all, a wise woman.

  9. caroline says:


  10. This may sound a bit strange, but my husband’s last words were, “I sure would like a root beer float”. My husband had been ill for 9 months. He was deteriorating physically. Food had been unimportant to him. I was ecstatic that he requested something that he had previously loved so much. He particularly like them from an establishment just down the road. I jumped in the car and headed down to fulfill his request. It was quite amazing how much care the person who was making the float put into it. It seemed quite ritualistic. I was deeply touched. When I returned home, my husband thoroughly enjoyed his root beer float. There was much non verbal communication between us as he managed to consume the entire float. He smiled and a few minutes later began feeling very uncomfortable. He soon went into a coma and in less than a day was gone from this physical plane. While his last words were not some profound statement, they were very meaningful to me and to the rest of the family. In fact, when we were all gathered together the day before the memorial service, we all just had to have root beer floats and raise our glasses with tear filled eyes to the man who meant so much to all of us.

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