I’m So Proud of You: The Last Words, the Last Visit, and What I’m Holding Onto
- Kelly Scott
- 6d
- 3 min read
How one visit, one phrase, and a handful of digital memories became a legacy worth preserving
A couple days before he was supposed to have open heart surgery, I flew from Seattle to New York to spend time with my dad.
We didn’t know then what was coming. We thought we were getting ahead of something big and not saying goodbye. His surgery had to be rescheduled for a couple weeks later, so we made the most of our time together.
That visit with my dad was one of the best we’d had in years. Just me, my dad, my brother, and my mom, together again, like the family unit we’d once been. We went on hikes, sat around dinners reminiscing about growing up in upstate NY, and stayed close to each other just wanting to be cozy in each other’s presence.
After our last dinner together, he looked at me and said, “You know, I’m so proud of you.” Those were the last words he ever said to me in person. I got back on a plane and headed home to my kids and Kris.
My dad died unexpectedly a week later, on Easter Sunday, the day before his scheduled surgery. I was heartbroken. I still am. But I’m also so deeply grateful that I had that time with him, when he was spirited and in his element. Fully himself. Fully present.
In the days that followed, I found myself clinging to anything I could find - texts, photos, voicemails, emails - anything that could bring him back for just a moment.
I would scroll through old messages, watch old videos on loop, and replay voicemails just to hear his voice, his big laugh, feeling the need to consume every little piece of evidence that he was here.
These are the digital crumbs he left behind. And they’ve become sacred.
What no one tells you is how deeply you’ll wish you had more. How deeply you’ll wish you could have documented it all.
I wish we’d talked more about what he wanted to preserve. He had endless stories, some hilarious, some heartbreaking, all uniquely him. We had even signed him up for Storyworth, one of many storytelling services, that emails a new writing prompt each week to help people capture their memories in their own words. He loved the idea. He didn’t get enough time to finish his Storyworth, but I’m so glad we were able to collect some of his stories.
I keep thinking about all the stories that went with him. The ones we’ll never get to read. I didn’t know how much I’d want to hold on to those things, until I couldn’t ask for them anymore.
That experience of scrambling to find the things that mattered most while trying to hold myself together stayed with me. It stayed with Kris too. Watching me dig through old messages, replay voicemails just to hear my dad’s voice. It brought him back to the moment he stepped in to settle my father’s estate, overwhelmed by the emotional and logistical weight of it all.
It inspired him to build End of an Era. It’s not just about settling estates or checking off legal boxes. It’s also about helping people hold onto what really matters. The stories. The voice memos. The photos. The traditions. The recipes to pass on to future generations. The parts of someone that don’t live in a will, but live in the hearts of the people they leave behind.
Because we don’t always know which moments will matter most until they’re gone. And by then, it shouldn’t be a race or a scramble to save what’s left.
I miss my dad every single day. Sometimes it’s sharp and sudden, like hearing a Pat Metheny or Sting song he loved. Other times it’s quieter, just a feeling that something’s missing. But in those moments, I go back to what I have: his words, his laugh, his photos, his stories. The little pieces that remind me he was here, and that he was mine. I hold onto them tightly because they’re all part of him. And he’s still with me, in every one.
Save what matters most—before it’s too late. They won’t know how much it matters until you’re gone.
