'I made a promise.' 15 women reflect on their last conversation with a loved one.

For those who have lost someone they love, the final conversation together sticks in the mind. For some, it's a conversation they didn't realise would be their last. For others, it had been planned out long before.

I vividly remember the final in-person conversation I had with my grandfather. And that hug - both of us knowing it could be the last. Then I remember the final coherent phone call. I was desperate to visit him interstate. But it was late March 2020, and the world had other plans.

I had my Aunty, who was there with him, read out a letter I had written - thanking my grandfather for being one of the only positive male role models in my life. He told me he loved me. And despite the circumstances being incredibly sh*t, it meant the world.

Sometimes in the darkest moments, like saying a final goodbye to someone you love, there's a little light. Not enough to drown out the sadness of the situation, but enough to get you through it. It's a reality so many of us have experienced to varying degrees and contexts. 

Watch: The journey through loss and grief with Jason Rosenthal. Post continues below.

For these 15 women, their final conversations with their loved ones have stuck with them. And they've been kind enough to share it with us.

Here are their stories.

My husband.

"My husband, aged 40, was dying from a six-month battle with aggressive cancer. We didn't expect to lose him, and we had a 12-month-old baby girl. I don't know why but I stayed that night in his private hospital room. I was sitting in a chair at the side of his bed, my hand resting on his thigh. I didn't want to leave his side. I remember speaking with him as he struggled for breath. He told me not to worry, we would be alright, like we always are. I remember telling him how much I loved him and thanking him for choosing me and loving me. He told me to get some rest. I laid my head on his chest and must have dosed off. I remember waking up at 5.45am and he was unconscious, struggling to breathe. I begged him to stay with me. I yelled for the nurse and she sobbed beside me.

"It was eight years ago and feels like yesterday. I remember everything. It is so surreal. In Australia, we don't know how to accept or acknowledge grief. We don't know what to say to someone or how to help them. We don't talk about it or teach our kids about it. Other cultures do it so much better. As a person living with loss, there is the before and after. You become a different person."

My dad.

"My Dad the night before he died in a plane crash, allowed me to have the last of nighttime cold and flu tablets before bed [despite him needing them as well]. He was always so kind. I look back positively on that memory and the care he always showed. Everyone has their own path and way to cope with loss."

My grandmother.

"My final conversation with my grandmother was to tell her that I was very early stages pregnant with my first baby. She was in and out of consciousness at this point but her eyes lit up when I told her. She was the first person we told after finding out. The next day my parents visited her and asked what she thought of our news and she smiled and nodded. Sadly, she passed away 11 days later."

My brother-in-law.

"I remember the last proper chat I had with my brother-in-law who died when he was only in his early 40s. We are a very close family and we hung out all the time with our respective kids. I remember holding his hand and telling him how beautiful his two kids were and what an amazing job he'd done raising them and that we'll always be there for them and his wife. It was very emotional and so sad. He died a few weeks later. We live close to his widow and his kids are gorgeous and we love them so much. That was a few years ago now and I wish he could see what great young men they have become I know he would be proud."

My ex-husband.

"The last conversation with my ex-husband was discussing what a beautiful day it was with our two daughters. We could see rolling green hills and grazing dairy cattle out the window of our private room in a regional Queensland town. When our daughters left the room, I told him I'd take good care of them. He later slipped into a coma and passed away 36 hours later. It was very emotional and gentle. We all do grief differently and at a different pace. I wish he had prepared the admin somewhat for his passing. It was a tough struggle with all the formalities afterwards."

My nanna.

"My nanna was very unwell at the end physically but she was still sharp as a tack. She was very social and didn't want to pass on. I was trying to be comforting and during a conversation, I asked if she would visit me when she was a spirit and we could still be connected. Her answer was - 'I haven't been to your new apartment, I doubt I'd be able to find it...'"

My daughter.

"My 12-year-old daughter died very unexpectedly. My last conversation with her went something like this 'off you go - head down the beach so I can organise your birthday' and she replied 'you just don't want me here right now do you mum?' We laughed - and off she went with her friend. And she collapsed 10 minutes later, suffered a cardiac arrhythmia and stopped breathing. She didn't recover and died four days later in my arms.

"There is so much more I would have said if I knew that was our last conversation. I would have told her that being her mum is the best thing I have ever done and ever will do, that our invisible string will connect beyond death, that I love her more than can be explained in words. Grief does not have to define you - life can be navigated in a new world - but life will not ever be the same."

My dad and my grandfather.

"I've had two very different, but both equally impactful conversations with members of my family before they passed. Both were slow burns, and we had time with each of them. The first was my dad, who passed when I had just graduated high school. He was incredibly unwell, and the circumstances around his death were a direct consequence of his own actions. He was young but had all the ailments and end-of-life resentments of someone far older so it was a difficult thing to process. My final words with him were to a man who looked exactly like the man I'd seen every second weekend until he betrayed my trust, so I stood next to his bedside with my arms crossed and my guard up, listening. He asked me to fix his mistakes and missteps with the family, to reconnect with my nonna, and to bridge the divide that had ripped through all of us. He begged, and I agreed.

"The second was my grandfather, who passed at the height of COVID. He never knew much about what was happening in the world at that time, and we kept his world very small. He was my favourite person in the entire world. In his final days, we were allowed to stand next to his bed, and we could have hushed conversations that felt so solemn, and real. He told me of all the things he wanted me to put on the shopping list for Christmas, envisioning himself making it a few more months to sit around the table and entertain, the way we always did. I wrote everything down in my phone notes - prawns, sparkling wine, potato salad - and he ushered me off to go and purchase everything. I said I'd see him soon, left the room, and that night he fell asleep for the last time."

My friend.

"I grew up overseas and had a best friend called Drew. We were so close. Shared so many memories together. When I moved to Australia we lost touch a bit. A couple of years later, we were talking on the phone about our lives 15,000 kilometres away. It was nice. We ended the call by saying 'see you later mate. It was so good to catch up. Let's not wait a couple of year's next time.' A few weeks later I was told that he had passed away from a heart attack. It was devastating. I'm just so glad we had the chance to speak prior."

My dad.

"My dad died when I was 16. I was away on work experience six hours away from home. I remember talking to dad on the phone just checking in. He seemed well and upbeat and had had a really good day. It was a nice conversation - he died within the next half hour. One regret I have from the conversation was not saying I love you to him in that conversation but I know he knew."

My grandmother.

"My mum and her twin sister don't get on, as the twin sister has not been the nicest to the family. When their mum was dying after a long illness, my mum and dad went to say their final goodbyes. Her final words to them were - 'please look after your sister.' And I remember my mum telling me that she replied with - 'Can you ask something else of me? I'd prefer to do anything but!' But my grandmother was determined to make sure her wish was carried through. She died soon after."

My husband.

"My husband had been in hospital for about three months - the final stage of his early onset Alzheimer's disease. In the final weeks and days, he was heavily sedated and medicated to keep him calm and pain-free as much as possible. I knew he was dying the last time I saw him. I knew I wouldn't get any sort of response from him as he was unconscious, but I kissed him on the head and said he could go when he needed to and if I was not there that was okay, and then I said goodbye. He did pass away during the early hours of the morning.

"There was a mixture of relief - he was not suffering anymore, but also sadness. It takes time to heal emotionally. Part of me had already been grieving the loss of my husband for years. I think the experience of losing a loved one when you know they will die makes a difference with your grief."

My granddad.

"We often don't realise that a conversation with someone will be our last. But I had a conversation with my late grandfather knowing it would be the last time I would see him alive. The circumstances were that he was suffering from dementia and had been in various nursing homes for eight years before he passed. His health had been declining and the family were called to the nursing home to say goodbye. The last conversation with him was incredibly difficult and emotional because I knew that it was going to be the last. He was in and out of consciousness and to be honest, I don't even know if he knew who I was in that moment. 

"I thanked him for everything he had given me. I told him I would miss him. I said goodbye and held his hand. I figured that the touch would mean more than the words in the state he was in. He passed not even 12 hours later. I've thought about that one-sided conversation many times since. It makes me sad every single time. I'm just thankful I was able to see him that day. I think that has definitely helped me process his loss... I got to say goodbye."

My mother.

"Today is exactly 12 months to the day since I had my last conversation with my mum. I told her I loved her, I told her to not leave me, I told her I was sorry I wasn't a good daughter, I wish I could have been better. I told her we needed more time but I know that all the time in the world would never be enough. Straight after this, they injected the morphine and although she wasn't in any more pain, she was gone from me. Grief is like waves - it hits me unexpectedly and it feels like it never ends. Spend the time, all of the time, take all of the photos and always tell them you love them."

My father.

"Dad died of cancer, so I have two last conversations… when he could sort of talk and when it was just me talking to him. I don't really remember our last proper conversation, which makes me sad. I guess I just didn't realise it was going to be the last one he could talk back. Dad was sick, so we knew it was coming, but it was still a shock. My nan was amazing and I loved her to bits, but it was just next level when dad died. Maybe because she lived a beautiful long life whereas his was cut short."

Feature Image: Canva.