Last Words

Terry and I had an agreement about life, even if we never said it out loud.

We were not going to sit around talking about death.

Not our style.

Life was still happening all around us. The sun kept rising over the mountains. Coffee still smelled wonderful in the morning. And there were still shows to watch, jokes to tell, and plans to make for tomorrow. So we kept doing exactly that.

Every night before bed we would talk about the next morning.

Nothing fancy.

Maybe pancakes. Maybe a slow walk if Terry felt strong enough. Maybe we would sit outside and let the air wake us up while the birds conducted their usual committee meeting in the trees. Simple plans. Small plans. Good plans.

We were also loyal fans of a show that most people politely pretend they have never watched.

South Park.

Now, if you have ever spent time with that show, you already know about our friend Cartman. Cartman had a line he liked to use whenever life did not cooperate with him.

“Screw you guys, I’m going home!”

He said it often. Usually while stomping away like a very determined marshmallow.

Terry loved that line.

One night after we had laughed ourselves silly, Terry said, very casually, “Those are going to be my last words when I go.”

I remember thinking, well, that actually sounds about right.

If anyone could exit the stage with perfect comedic timing, it would be Terry.

Life, however, had its own script.

The last few months were rough waters. MS had made its way to Terry’s brain, and clarity came and went like clouds moving across the sky. My radio man also lost the ability to speak. That part never felt fair. Words were his playground. Jokes were his favorite sport.

But here is the part that stayed.

Clear as a mountain morning.

The last thing Terry ever said to me with a steady, present mind was simple.

“Honey, I love you.”

That was it.

No dramatic speeches. No Cartman exit line. Just love, spoken plainly, like someone setting a warm cup of coffee on the table.

I carry those words with me every day.

They are lighter than grief and stronger than it too.

Sometimes when life throws a small tantrum and things go sideways, I can almost hear Terry laughing somewhere nearby.

And honestly, if he did leave this world quietly muttering, “Screw you guys, I’m going home,” I would not blame him one bit.

It would be very on brand.

Still, I am grateful.

Because the last words he chose for me were words of love.