The Last Conversation
Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal
Smaller Dose #16: It’s good that you came back for more.
Reading time: ~6 minutes
Length: ~1,220 words
My mother passed away six months ago, and I’ve not been the same person since then. It was Lewy Body Dementia and Parkinson’s that had finally taken her from us. And on that day, I became an orphan. I’ve yet to find a better word to describe the void that I’ve been feeling.
In a span of two years, she went from living in her own home to independent living in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment, to assisted living with increasing levels of care, to memory care and then finally a nursing home for the last 10 days of her life. It was the same nursing home where my father spent the last 18 months of his life. I was there with her for most of those last few days. She passed away on a Sunday evening and was buried next to my father on Tuesday morning.
The last two weeks were the most difficult. She fell and as a precaution she was taken to the hospital to get evaluated. When asked, she knew her first name, but not her last. She didn’t know where she was. She was very weak and could barely get out more than a few words. I didn’t realize that the end was so near. Or I was in denial and didn’t want to accept what was soon to come.
Have you ever considered that there are people in your life with whom you have had your last conversation with, and you don't even realize it?
Throughout our lives, there are many times when we have the last conversation with someone without recognizing such until much later or not at all if we never think about that person again. We leave school or a job or move to a new city and reflexively we say things like “keep in touch.” But often times, we don’t. We have friendships and relationships which transform over time. Sometimes days turn into weeks, months and years and we drift apart. We don’t consciously realize that we’ve had that last conversation with someone who was once so close to us and an important part of our daily lives.
Recently I found out about a friend from college who passed away last year. It was my roommate from our sophomore year. Our last conversation was an email exchange in 2012. When I found out he had passed away, a flood of memories came rushing back to my consciousness. We had each gone our separate ways with different goals, values, and beliefs. Yet there will always be a connection to our time together back in school. There were shared experiences and memories which live or lived within each of us.
Soon after hearing about his passing, I reached out to some of my college friends who knew him. I’m connected to many of them on LinkedIn yet haven’t had a conversation with most of them in perhaps 30 years. A few days later we had a Zoom call scheduled. Our last conversations were long forgotten and yet we picked up where we left off. We even teased each other a bit as we did when we were 18 or 19 years old. It was a good call. A bright light in what has been a dark time for me and my family.
Perhaps right now you are thinking about the last conversation you had with a family member, a friend, a former colleague, a neighbor, or anyone else who was part of your journey through life. Maybe you can’t remember the context of that conversation. Maybe you can. Maybe it brings a smile to your face. And maybe you wished you had done or said something different or something more.
People come into your life for a variety of reasons; to teach us something, to give us a piece of the puzzle to move on to the next chapter and so on. Not everyone stays around forever. Sad as it may be to some, this is a normal part of the human experience.
The last conversations with my mom are something vague. In those final two weeks I was able to speak with her on the phone before I arrived to be there with her in person. She didn’t have the strength to get out more than a few words. What I do remember is a conversation I had with her a week or two prior to her final chapter. She told me that she was having lunch with the Queen (obviously an association from a Hallmark movie) and that she wanted me to make sure that there was enough food for everyone. And I assured her that I would take care of everything and there was nothing for her to worry about. That seemed to bring her some peace and comfort for a fleeting moment. Even with her fading mental capacity, she still thought of others first. That is the legacy of my mom. It is one of the greatest lessons she imparted upon me.
Anchor points. Moments in time which stay with us. There were many during those last few weeks of her life. The call from the nursing home telling me that I should come as soon as possible. The call letting me know that she had passed away, 20 minutes after I left her side. All the friends who came to visit her in those last few days. People who knew my mom for 65 or more years. My colleagues and business partners who took care of everything without me asking. The hotel staff, who were aware of my situation and went above and beyond for the duration of my stay. The list goes on.
I’m still not the same person I was. I’m not sure I will ever be. But I am more aware of the possibility of last conversations with family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, and the like. And if I have a kind word, I don’t leave it unsaid. And that makes me smile and brings me some sense of peace.
Be well my friends.
Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also authors short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.
If you’re still reading and wondering about my tagline, “It’s good that you came back for more,” read Smaller Dose #1 for the origin of that phrase.
Books are great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared, and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone who you think could benefit. It’s only $15.24 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below.
Thinking of you Jerry. Sorry to read of your Mom’s passing. It’s Mother’s Day in England today and I’m about to call my Mum.
Thanks, Jerry. A lovely post.