Priscilla Preszley’s phone rang at 11:47 p.m. on August 15th, 1977. She was in her Los Angeles apartment getting ready for bed. Lisa Marie was already asleep. It was Monday night, late, unexpected. The phone ringing at this hour meant something, meant urgency, meant something was wrong. Priscilla answered, “Hello?” Elvis’s voice. Rough, tired, barely recognizable. But Elvis, Priscilla, it’s me. I know it’s late. I’m sorry, but I needed to call. Needed to talk to you.

Needed to hear your voice. Do you have a few minutes? Priscilla sat down, felt her heart racing, felt concern flooding, felt the weight of Elvis calling this late. Elvis, are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you safe? I’m okay. I’m at Graceland in my bedroom alone. Just needed to talk. Needed to tell you something. Needed to say something. Is that okay? Can we talk? Of course. What do you need to say? What Priscilla didn’t tell Elvis was that she was recording the call. Had started recording the moment she heard

his voice. Had a cassette recorder connected to her phone. Had been recording Elvis’s calls for months. not for malicious reasons, not to use against him, but to preserve them, to document them, to keep his voice, to have recordings of their conversations, especially as Elvis got sicker, especially as his calls became more urgent, more desperate, more final. She’d started recording in May 1977, 3 months earlier, after Elvis had called her crying. Yeah. After Elvis had told her he was dying. After Elvis had

sounded so broken, she wanted to preserve his voice, wanted to keep recordings, wanted to have something. So, she’d installed a recorder on her phone. And every time Elvis called, she recorded every conversation, every word, every moment. This call on August 15th, 1977 was no different. Priscilla pressed record the moment she heard Elvis’s voice. Captured everything. Captured what would become their final phone call. Yeah. Captured Elvis’s last words to her. Captured everything. Before you

hear what Elvis said in that final call, understand this. Priscilla kept that recording for 45 years. Never told anyone it existed. Never played it for anyone. Never shared it. Kept it completely private. completely secret until June 24th, 2022. Until she was 77 years old, until she decided to play it one time, just once for one person, then destroyed it. Destroyed the only recording of Elvis’s final words to her. Destroyed it immediately after playing it. Here’s what Elvis said in that final phone call

on August 15th, 1977. Priscilla, I called because I need to tell you something. Need you to hear something. Need to say something before it’s too late. Before I can’t say it anymore. I’m dying. Not someday. Not eventually. Soon. Very soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Maybe the next day, but soon. My body is telling me is preparing me. Is shutting down when and I needed to call you. Needed to tell you things. Needed to say goodbye. Is that okay? Can I say goodbye? Priscilla’s voice on the recording was steady, controlled, but

emotional. Elvis, you’re not dying. You’re sick, but you can get help. You can get better. You don’t have to say goodbye. Yes, I do. I have to say goodbye because I’m dying. And I need to say things, need you to hear things, need you to know things. So please, please let me say this. Let me tell you, let me say goodbye. Oh, please. Okay. Okay, Elvis, say what you need to say. Elvis took a shaky breath on the recording, then spoke for 11 minutes. 11 minutes of final words, 11 minutes of

goodbye, 11 minutes of truth. This is what Elvis said. Thank you. Thank you for letting me say this. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being you. That’s the first thing. Thank you for everything. For loving me when I was worth loving. For trying to save me when I was destroying myself. For leaving when staying would have destroyed you too. For protecting Lisa Marie. For being strong when I was weak. for being honest when I was lying, for being everything I needed even when I couldn’t

be what you needed. Thank you for all of it. Thank you for 14 years of knowing you. Thank you for 6 years of marriage. Thank you for 8 years of trying to help me after divorce. Thank you for everything. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, the best choice I ever made. And losing you was the worst consequence of my worst choices. That’s what I need you to know. That’s what I need you to understand. Losing you was what pills cost me. What addiction took from me. What destroying myself meant. I

lost you. And I’ve regretted it. Every single day since every day, every moment, I’ve looked at you and seen what I destroyed, what I threw away, what I chose pills over. And I’ve hated myself for it. That’s what I carry. That’s what I’m dying, carrying. Regret, loss in understanding what I destroyed. But I also need you to know this. Need you to understand this. Need you to carry this. You were right to leave. Right to save yourself. Right to protect Lisa Marie. Right to choose life over watching me

die. You did everything right. Everything. You loved me when I was lovable. You tried to save me when I was destroying myself. You left when staying would have killed you, too. That’s all correct. That’s all right. That’s all what you should have done. Don’t carry guilt. Don’t carry responsibility. Don’t carry blame. I chose this. I destroyed us. I killed what we had, not you. Me. Remember that. When I die, when you’re processing, when you’re grieving, remember it was me. my choices, my

failures, my destruction, not yours. You did everything right. I did everything wrong. That’s the truth. That’s what I need you to know. That’s what I’m saying. Goodbye carrying. Elvis paused on the recording. Crying then continued. What? And I need to tell you about Lisa Marie. Need to say something about our daughter. Need you to know something. She’s perfect. She’s everything. She’s the best thing we ever created. The best part of both of us. And I’m so sorry I’m

leaving her. So sorry I’m dying when she’s only nine. So sorry she’ll grow up without her father. So sorry I chose pills over being her daddy. That’s my greatest failure. My biggest regret, my worst choice. Not being the father she deserved. Not choosing her over addiction. Not staying alive for her. That’s what I’m dying most ashamed of. That’s what hurts most. That’s what I’ll die carrying. I failed Lisa Marie. Failed to be what she needed. Failed to choose her over pills. Failed to stay

alive for her. That’s on me. That’s my failure. That’s what I’m sorry for. Tell her that when I’m gone, when she’s old enough to understand. Tell her I was sorry. Tell her I loved her more than anything. Tell her leaving her was the hardest thing. Tell her I failed her. Tell her it was my failure, not hers. Tell her she was perfect. Tell her she deserved better. Tell her I’m sorry. Please tell her. That’s what I’m asking. That’s my final request about Lisa

Marie. Tell her I was sorry. Tell her I loved her. Tell her I failed. Tell her it was me, not her, please. Elvis paused again, then finished. And finally, I need to tell you this, need to say this, need you to hear this. I love you. You know, I’ve always loved you. I’ll die loving you. You were it for me. The one. The person I was meant to be with. The person I destroyed everything with. The person I lost through my own choices, but also the person I never stopped loving, never stopped wanting, never

stopped regretting losing. I love you, Priscilla. I’ll die tonight or tomorrow loving you. That’s the truth. That’s what I needed to say. That’s my final words to you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. Even dead. Even gone. Even after everything, I love you. Remember that. Carry that. Know that. I love you. Goodbye, Priscilla. Thank you for everything. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being you. I love you. Goodbye. The recording captured Priscilla crying.

Captured her trying to respond. Captured her voice breaking. Elvis, please don’t say goodbye. Please get help. Please choose to live. Please don’t give up. Please fight. I’m begging you. Please. Elvis’s voice was final. Was accepting. Was done. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t fight anymore. Can’t choose different. Can’t stop. This is goodbye. Accept it with me. Let me go. Love me by letting me go. That’s what I need. Goodbye, Priscilla. I love you. Elvis hung up.

The call ended. The recording captured the dial tone. Captured Priscilla sitting in silence. Captured her processing. Captured her understanding Elvis had just said goodbye. Captured everything. 18 hours later, Elvis was dead. He found unresponsive at Graceland at 2:30 p.m. on August 16th, 1977. Pronounced dead at 3:30 p.m. 18 hours after his final phone call to Priscilla. 18 hours after saying goodbye, 18 hours after his final words, Priscilla kept the recording, kept it completely private, told no one it existed. Not

Lisa Marie, not Vernon, not anyone. Just kept it. Kept Elvis’s final words. Kept his goodbye. Kept it secret for 45 years. For 45 years, Priscilla carried the knowledge that she had Elvis’s final words recorded, had his goodbye preserved, had his voice saying, “I love you,” one last time, had all of it, and told no one. In June 2022, Priscilla was 77 years old. Was thinking about her own mortality. Was thinking about what would happen to the recording when she died. Was thinking about whether it should be

preserved or destroyed. Was deciding. On June 24th, 2022, Priscilla made a decision, made a choice, made a commitment. She would play the recording one time, just once, for one person, for Lisa Marie. Then destroy it. Destroy Elvis’s final words. Destroy the recording forever. Priscilla called Lisa Marie, asked her to come over. Told her it was important. Told her she needed to hear something. Told her to come alone. Lisa Marie came. arrived at Priscilla’s house in Los Angeles, concerned,

curious, not knowing what this was about. Priscilla sat Lisa Marie down, explained. Lisa Marie, I I need to tell you something. Need to show you something. Need you to hear something. In 1977, the night before your father died, he called me. We had a final phone call. He said goodbye. He told me things. He said his final words to me and I recorded it. I recorded the entire call. I’ve kept that recording for 45 years. Never told anyone, never played it for anyone, never shared it. But I’m

77 now. I’m thinking about my own death about what happens to this recording. And I’ve decided I’m going to play it for you once, just this one time. You’ll hear your father’s final words. You’ll hear him say goodbye. You’ll hear everything. Then I’m destroying it. Destroying the recording immediately after you hear it. It will exist for you to hear once. Then it will be gone forever. Are you ready? Do you want to hear it? Lisa Marie sat stunned, processing, understanding. You’ve had a

recording of daddy’s final words for 45 years and never told me. Never let me hear it. Yes, I kept it private, kept it secret, kept it between your father and me. But now I’m ready to share it once with you, then destroy it. Are you ready? Lisa Marie nodded. Yes, play it. I need to hear it. Priscilla played the recording. The entire 11 minutes. Elvis’s voice. Elvis’s words. Elvis’s goodbye. Lisa Marie listened. cried, absorbed. Heard her father’s final words. Heard him say he loved Priscilla.

Heard him say he was sorry. Heard him talk about failing Lisa Marie. Heard everything. When the recording ended, Lisa Marie sat in silence, processing, understanding, carrying what she just heard. After 10 minutes, Lisa Marie spoke. Thank you for letting me hear that. Thank you for sharing it. Thank you for letting me hear Daddy’s voice saying those things. That was everything. That was devastating. That was beautiful. Thank you. Priscilla nodded. You’re welcome. And now I’m destroying it. Priscilla took the

cassette tape, took it outside, took a hammer, and destroyed it. Smashed it. Broke it into pieces. Made it unplayable. Made it gone. Made Elvis’s final recorded words disappear forever. Lisa Marie watched, understood, accepted. Why? Why destroy it? Why not keep it? Why not preserve it? Priscilla’s answer was firm, was final, was decided. Because those words were private, were between your father and me. I let you hear them because you deserve to, because he talked about you, because you’re his daughter. But they’re

not for the world, not for history, not for preservation. They’re private. They’re sacred. They’re final words that should stay final. I kept them 45 years. I shared them with you once. Now I’m letting them go. Now I’m destroying them. Now they exist only in our memory. That’s where they belong. That’s where they’ll stay. In our hearts. In our memory. Not on tape, not preserved, not kept, gone. Like your father, gone. The recording was destroyed. The pieces were thrown away. Elvis’s final recorded

words to Priscilla disappeared forever. Only two people ever heard it. Priscilla and Lisa Marie both carry it now. Both remember it. Both know what Elvis said. But the recording is gone. Destroyed intentionally. permanently. In January 2023, Lisa Marie died. Took Elvis’s final words with her. Took the memory of hearing that recording. Took everything. Now only Priscilla remains. Only Priscilla remembers exactly what Elvis said. Only Priscilla carries the full memory. Only Priscilla knows. And

when Priscilla dies, Elvis’s final words will die with her. Will be lost. will exist only as the knowledge that they once existed, that they were recorded, that they were played once, that they were destroyed. That’s what Priscilla chose. That’s what happened in 2022. That’s what the destruction meant. Priscilla recorded her final phone call with Elvis on August 15th, 1977. She kept it for 45 years. She played it once in 2022 for Lisa Marie, then destroyed it. destroyed Elvis’s final words, destroyed

his goodbye, destroyed his I love you, destroyed everything. The recording no longer exists. The words are gone. Only memory remains. Only Priscilla carries the exact words. Only she knows precisely what Elvis said. And she’s not telling. She’s keeping it private. She’s honoring Elvis’s final words by not sharing them. She’s protecting their privacy by destroying the evidence. That’s what happened. That’s what 2022 meant. That’s what the destruction created. Elvis’s final words exist only

in Priscilla’s memory now. Exist only as the knowledge that they were said, were recorded, were shared once, were destroyed. That’s everything. That’s what the recording meant. That’s what its destruction meant. Priscilla recorded Elvis’s final phone call. Kept it 45 years. Played it once, destroyed it. Elvis’s final words are gone forever.