We tend to think of last words in terms of famous quotations. On her deathbed, Gertrude Stein (no relation to me) was asked, “What is the answer (to the meaning of life)?” Her matter-of-fact response was, “What is the question?”
John Adams, our second President, alternately rival and friend of Thomas Jefferson, found some relief and gratitude in the belief that “Thomas Jefferson still survives” as he (Adams) lay dying. What he did not know in the pre-electronic year of 1826 was that Jefferson had, in fact, predeceased him by a few hours. Nor did either appear to reflect on the irony that these founding fathers both expired on July 4.
On a less ironic note, students of American history will recall the story of Nathan Hale, captured and convicted of spying on the British during the Revolutionary War. “I only regret that I have but one life to give my country,” uttered Hale before his execution.
More locally, Chicagoans might have heard of Giuseppe Zangara, an anarchist who took aim at President-Elect Franklin D. Roosevelt as he and the Mayor of Chicago shook hands in Miami’s Bayfront Park on February 15, 1933. The bullet hit Mayor Anton Cermak, who reportedly told FDR, “I’m glad it was me instead of you.” Cermak died soon after and is memorialized to this day with a Chicago street that bears his name.
There are other kinds of last words, of course. The father of legendary musician and conductor Carlo Maria Giulini gathered his family around his deathbed to remind them that the word love, “amore,” should guide their thought and conduct throughout their lives. And one can only imagine how many times the word “love,” the words “I love you,” have been on the lips of the dying and their survivors at the end of earthly things. The religiously faithful have been heard to add, “See you on the other side.”
The last words of our parents tend to linger in our memory. We are often cautioned to part from loved ones on a high note, not a dissonant one, lest someone is left with the recollection and pain of a final disagreement or the regret of injuring a loved one in what proves to be their last possible moment.
Two unfortunate examples from my clinical practice come to mind in this regard. One woman, whose mother had died many years before, struggled to shake her mother’s last-minute assertion, “You’re an ass, Jenny (not her real name).” It is not the only example I can recall hearing from one or another of my patients. But the all-time cake-taker, the grand prize winner in an imaginary Hall of Shame of ill-timed and venomously expressed invective, are the words of a rebellious teenager to his severely taxed father.
A long history of mutual destructiveness typified their relationship. It seems that the Pater familias was inept and self-interested in raising his son, and the son repaid his parent’s cruelty and clumsiness with as much drug use and petty crime as he could muster. Nor did it help that the family was under financial pressure and that the two adults in the home were a poorly matched pair.
The father had only recently sustained a heart attack when the school reported to him and his wife that the son had been suspended again. The “mother-of-all” shouting matches ensued between the middle-aged man and his first-born disappointment. And then, the last words: “You’re going to kill me.” And the reply, “You deserve to die.”
Not 24 hours later, the words were realized. Deserved or not, the father was dead. And even though one could easily make a convincing rational argument that his death was not produced by his son’s words (or, at least, that the killing heart attack was waiting for whatever the next stressor was and would have happened very soon even without the argument as a trigger), it is easy to imagine that the sense of guilt would be lasting.
I’m not opposed to standing up to people who have injured you, including your parents. To say, “I know what you did (even if you deny it or justify it), and I won’t let you do it anymore,” is sometimes perfectly appropriate. That self-assertion can be therapeutic, even though it is usually not essential.
You can recover from childhood mistreatment without facing the offender. Witness those individuals who do so when their abusive parents are dead and therefore unavailable for real-life discussion. What is essential, however, is to make sure that the mistreatment stops. This usually means that you, the now adult child, must stop it: walk away, say “no,” or hang up the phone — whatever is required.
If you aim to change the offender instead, be prepared to be disappointed. Most won’t change or even admit that they did anything wrong. But if you wish to overcome your fear and master the situation, that mastery, at least, is possible.
It was better to live as Giulini’s family lived, with love at the center of their being. I’m told that the old Italian expression for this is “volersi bene” or “voler bene:” an untranslatable sentiment indicating that you cannot be happy without the happiness of the other. Yes, much better this way.
Perhaps it is no mistake that the words for life and love are so close in English and German. Change the word “live” by one letter, and you have “love.” In German, change the word “leben” (to live) by adding one letter, and you have “lieben” (to love).
Not just last words or Giulini’s father’s last words, but words to live (and love) by.
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The 1935 photo of Gertrude Stein is the work of Carl Van Vechten, from the Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, sourced from Wikimedia Commons. The second image is Carlo Maria Giulini. The final photograph comes from The Lonely, a 1959 episode of the original Twilight Zone TV series. Jack Warden and Jean Marsh are pictured.
Oh my. The exchange between the rebellious teen and his father. Words matter. And I love how you punctuate this point by reminding us of the closeness of live and love in a literal sense and from a life goals perspective. Thank you. (And the image of Giulini? Wow.)
Thank you, Vicki. As to Giulini, he was both a great man and a good man. A rare combination. Perhaps the photo gives you a sense of why he was especially attractive to the ladies in the audience, as well.
Yes…what a pensive and powerful expression. He’s handsome, yes, but the thoughts behind the visage? Musical bliss and rapture? Thank you for your post this morning.
Saintly, inward, intense, lots of qualities. As I told you and Wynne, faithful in all senses, too. Tom Saler wrote his biography. Worth reading.
😉
Powerful thoughts Dr. Stein. I remembered back to childhood, being told that adult wisdom that words don’t matter…let them roll off your back… but they do matter and they stay with you, often locked deeply inside.
Thank you, Deb. Yes, some adults try to shift the blame with words like, “You’re too sensitive,” “You’ve got to learn to toughen up,” or “Can’t you take a joke?”
Thank you for your perceptive comment, as always, Deb.
“What is essential, however, is to make sure that the mistreatment stops. This usually means that you, the now adult child, must stop it: walk away, say “no,” or hang up the phone — whatever is required.”
I agree with Deb, words matter a great deal. I remember years ago my mother telling me I needed to let her words roll off me like water off a duck’s back, and she even bought me a small carved bird to remind me of that. No mention that what she said was beyond hurtful, that her words were cruel, but since she knew in her heart that she couldn’t change, her response was that people just let her words slide right off them, except they slide through the cracks in one’s armor and lodge somewhere deep inside. She lost all her relationships and friendships because of her words, and now the only human contact she has is through the paid carers in her life.
Words matter. Everyday, not just one’s final words.
No matter what we have been through in life, we can still be respectful to others, we can still find kind things to say.
I have also observed in many people that when we choose this path instead of spreading the anger and vitriol that may be inside, that those words and actions we send out have a way of slowly healing us inside, of helping to reduce the anger. The heartfelt responses we get from people also help to reduce the inner pain, for we slowly learn that not everyone is focused on hurting others, so we can slowly release those inner pains.
They’re small things, and even if the positive results take time to see, it’s much better than the alternative of what I have seen people like my mother experiencing.
Too true about the capacity of some parents to do extensive damage and then minimize the impact they’ve had. I’m glad you survived, Tamara! Be well.
Thank you Dr. Stein, I’m grateful to have come out of it and now to even be of help for some still struggling with their inner pain. Words are so powerful aren’t they?
Indeed, Tamara.
Dr. Stein, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for helping me, through your blog posts, to walk away from and say “no” to my late-mother’s abuse. I was not present the day before she died in her sleep. On my last visit, during our family reunion, she did not know who I was and had no harsh words for me. I hold on to her last positive comment that I have kind eyes. As for me, my last words to my sons would be “take care of each other.” Love in action <3
You’ve made my day, Rosaliene. I’m glad I was able to help. Ending abuse so often takes years or decades — or never happens at all. Congratulations on setting a limit and doing better for your children.
<3
I concur with Tamara’s sentiment: words matter. Last words carry more weight than they should because one knows they can’t be taken back or revised. That’s why I try to be careful with my words when parting with a loved one. You never know what the next day might bring. It’s helpful to develop a thick skin, to learn how not be crushed by the weight of hurtful words but a child cannot do this. When I was little my mom taught me the old saying, “Sticks and stones…” Sadly, I learned that it wasn’t true. Words do hurt, often more than a physical strike. Sometimes, they echo in your mind as strongly as the day they were delivered.
Thank you, Evelyn. Sometimes the little ones are targeted simply because they can’t fight back, as a spouse, friend, or boss might. You are entirely right about the need to weigh one’s words carefully and deliver them with one eye on how long any sting might last. Giulini’s father had the right idea. To the good, words such as his can also resonate for a lifetime.
Your article is remarkable, and as a professional musician, I utterly enjoyed all words of it!
Complimenti, Dottor Stein!
Much appreciated, Micaela. I hope you get a chance to take a look at those that have a musical theme, including but not limited to Giuilin, Bartok, Fritz Reiner, Fred Spector (the late CSO violinist), and Dale Clevenger. In any case, be well and thank you for bringing beauty to the world through your profession!
You almost quoted Dostoïevsky, dear Mr Stein: “Beauty will save the world”, said Prince Mishkin. (Idiot).
Yes, my soul knew it since I was a little girl (would even dare to say in my mother’s womb), deeply in love as I was with Beethoven, Bach, Mozart and many others…even if my brain didn’t know about such high concepts.
To this I always remained bound with gratitude and joy towards my God’s gift, no matter the high price paid.
It is nice to be reminded of Prince Mishkin. I read “The Idiot” several years ago. It is also wonderful to find a person who remembers why they entered the profession they chose. As you know better than I, too many are defeated by routine, the harshness of the business end, and the performance of the same repertoire over many years. May you continue to keep your art a thing that is fresh! Thanks for your comment.