As a person interested in history and with a special interest in the American Civil War, I have long been fascinated by the so-called dying words of that era's combatants. Two of the most well known quotes that come to mind are the last words of Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson and Robert E. Lee. For pure beauty, it would be hard to beat Jackson's reputed last words: "Let us cross over the river and sit in the shade of the trees". Lee's last words reflected more his military bent and were alledgedly directed to one of his former generals: "Strike the tent!".
Whether seeking the tranquility of shade trees or organizing the next day's battle, it is an enduring image in our culture, that we should die peacefully in the presence of our loved ones. Unfortunately, this is not always possible. One of the most traumatic effects of the Civil War and its resultant 600,000 deaths upon American society was the loss of this ability to mourn the deaths of a loved one in the traditional manner. Certainly, there had always been men dying upon a distant battlefield, but the sheer number of deaths from this war far outweighed previous conflicts and unfortunately presaged even more devastating wars to come. Dying in some far off city, state or even country without the benefit of kith and kin became the norm for thousands young men and their families. Without the opportunity to comfort the dying, these same families felt robbed of their proper grieving.
In today's society, the same sense of loss regarding the missed opportunity to be with those who are dying can be just as troubling. With the nuclear family often scattered across a continent or even across the world, simply being there when a loved one passes away is not often possible. Whether or not there are famous last words to be uttered or any final words at all, there is often a greater sense of loss, helplessness, or even anger when we are denied that final time together.
In the case of my father, his recent death came suddenly and alone. Collapsing in his home and probably dying suddenly as a result of a stomach aneurysm, there were most likely no last words, nor even time to utter them. Knowing my father as I do, whichever last words he may have uttered would most likely have reflected his anger at falling and would certainly not be printable in this blog.
Separated by an entire continent, I did not arrive in town until several days after my father's death. Between the six hour plane flight and the five hour drive to his house, I had plenty of opportunity to reflect upon things. At the risk of sounding a little maudlin, I must admit that one of my biggest regrets was not being there at the end with him. However, in looking back to our weekly phone conversation in what turned out to be the day before he died, I realize that I was able to share what might have been his final words - at least to me. After exhausting our usual conversation pieces concerning the weather, our hopes for the Dodgers in the coming year (not much), and how his grandchildren were doing, we wrapped things up in the usual exchange:
"Love you, kid!"
"Love you too, Dad!"
While certainly not worthy of historical note or fame, I'll take those final words over shade trees and tent striking anytime . . .
