The Last Word

Upon his assassination in 1923, Poncho Villa uttered the words, “Don’t let it end like this. Tell them I said something.”

Now, I’m not here to judge the dead—I sometimes choke on awkward goodbyes when in an enclosed space (like a taxi cab or a public restroom), but I feel like last words should be somewhat premeditated. After all, this is your closing statement, your parting gift to the world as you take your graceful (or perhaps disgraceful) leave of this life.

There’s nothing quite like being caught with your oratory pants down like the Lady Nancy Astor who woke briefly from her last illness to find herself surrounded by her entire family and asked, “Am I dying or is it my birthday?” before slipping safely into the hands of the unknown.

Del Close and Oscar Wilde left us with “I’m tired of being the funniest person in the room,” and “Either the wallpaper goes, or I do,” respectively. Clearly, these gentlemen had their “wits” about them when they met their ends.

I recently found myself reflecting on my grandmother’s last moments, and while she didn’t have the power of speech, she said volumes with only a look. This woman, for whom I am named, had a wicked sense of humor, and no patience for the mundane. Amidst the chaos of an Italian family wailing around her, my mom, sobbing over her shoulder, whispered “Go with God, Mom; go with God.” Thankfully blinded by tears, I’m fairly certain mom missed the mocking stare and the quick eye-roll my grandmother flashed before relenting and letting go of her last breath. If I could write the words that went with that last glance, I’m fairly certain she would have said, “What, do you have reservations later? Trying to catch the eight o'clock movie? I'll go when I'm damn well ready.” I like to think of this as our last inside joke before we parted ways.

Not to be morbid, but I hope that when I go, I have the wherewithal to either come up with something genius off the cuff, or release my long-planned: “I promised myself I wasn’t gonna die!” Because, unlike this world of e-mails, f-book chats, g-chats, i-chats and any other one-letter abbreviated convos, the last line of one’s life really counts. I fear we're headed for an age where last words will be sent via mass-text message. In that case, I'm going with this cat's idea.