Lisa Marie Presley was so devastated by the loss of her son, Benjamin Keough, that she kept his body in her home for two months after he passed away. She even invited a tattoo artist to see him so she could get matching tattoos.
This is just one of many surprising details in Lisa Marie’s new memoir, From Here to the Great Unknown, which was completed by her daughter, actress Riley Keough, after Lisa Marie passed away in January 2023.
Lisa Marie (left) next to her beloved son Ben, along with her third husband, Michael Lockwood, and a guest, at the London premiere of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” in November 2010.
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In her book, Lisa Marie shared that she had to fight to stay alive for her other children, Riley and her twin daughters Harper and Finley, who are now 16. She didn’t say goodbye to Benjamin right away because she was torn between burying him in Hawaii or at Graceland, the Memphis estate where Elvis, her father, is buried.
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Lisa Marie kept the room at 55 degrees to preserve Benjamin’s body and got so used to caring for him and having him there.
Riley and Lisa Marie decided to honor Benjamin by getting tattoos like his. Benjamin had his sister’s name on his collarbone and his mom’s name on his hand. Riley had her brother’s name tattooed on her collarbone, and a tattoo artist was called to Lisa Marie’s home to add Benjamin’s name to her hand. When the artist asked if they had photos of Benjamin’s tattoos to match the font and placement, Lisa Marie said, “No, but I can show you.”
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Riley writes: “Lisa Marie Presley had just asked this poor man to look at her dead son, who was right next to us in the guest house. I’ve had a very strange life, but this moment is one of the weirdest.”
Lisa Marie also knew it was strange. She said, “I think it would scare the heck out of anyone else to have their son there like that. But not me.”
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Soon after the tattoo day, Riley remembers that everyone felt like Benjamin wanted to be laid to rest.
Even Lisa Marie said she could feel him communicating with her, saying, “This is crazy, Mom, what are you doing? What the heck!”
The family held a funeral for Benjamin in Malibu, and New Age author Deepak Chopra led the ceremony. Riley said she had to keep her eyes closed the whole time because she was struggling to cope with everything.
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Benjamin was buried at Graceland, next to Elvis, and Lisa Marie would later be buried there too.
Riley writes a lot about her brother’s struggles with mental health and how he often went on drinking binges. She doesn’t believe he truly wanted to die.
After his death, she and her mom went through his phone, looking for answers.
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Riley writes, “We found a text he sent to my mom a couple of weeks before he died that said, ‘I think something’s wrong with me mentally. I think I have a mental health issue.’ It’s heartbreaking to me that he only realized he might need help just two weeks before he took his own life.”
Listening to the Echoes of Time: One Woman’s Mission to Preserve the Stories of the Elderly
The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air as I navigated the maze-like corridors of the nursing home. I clutched a stack of donated blankets, a small gesture of comfort for the residents. As I rounded a corner, I came upon a heartwarming scene. A group of elderly residents, their faces a tapestry of wrinkles and age spots, sat in a circle, their eyes fixed on a young woman. She sat on a low stool, a small journal resting on her lap, her pen moving swiftly across the page.
“She comes every week,” a nurse whispered to me, her voice hushed. “None of them are her family.”
Intrigued, I watched from a distance. The residents, their voices frail and reedy, recounted stories of long-ago loves, childhood adventures, and wartime experiences. The young woman listened intently, her eyes filled with a gentle curiosity. She would occasionally pause, asking a clarifying question, her voice soft and soothing. As she listened, she meticulously recorded their words, capturing their memories in ink.
Later, I approached the young woman, thanking her for her kindness. “Many of them get no visitors,” she explained, her smile warm and genuine. “Their memories are fading, and I worry that their stories will be lost forever. So, I come here every week and listen. I write down their names, their life stories, the names of their loved ones, the places they’ve been, the things they’ve done. It’s a small thing, but I hope it helps them feel seen and heard.”
Her words struck a chord within me. In a world that often prioritizes the new and the shiny, it was easy to forget the importance of the past, the stories that shaped us. These elderly residents, with their fading memories, were a living archive of history, their lives a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. And this young woman, with her simple act of kindness, was ensuring that their stories would not be forgotten.
As I walked away, I couldn’t shake off the image of the young woman, her pen dancing across the page, capturing the essence of a life lived. Her actions were a powerful reminder that true compassion lies in the small, everyday gestures of kindness, in the act of simply listening and acknowledging the humanity of others.
The experience left me pondering the fleeting nature of time and the importance of preserving our memories. It made me realize that everyone has a story to tell, a legacy to leave behind. And sometimes, all it takes is a listening ear and a pen to ensure that those stories are not lost to the sands of time.
Later that day, I found myself reflecting on my own life, on the stories I wanted to tell, the memories I wanted to preserve. I started a journal of my own, a place to record my thoughts, my experiences, the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and failures. I wanted to make sure that my own story, however ordinary, would not be forgotten.
The young woman at the nursing home had shown me the power of empathy, the importance of connecting with others, and the enduring value of human connection. Her simple act of kindness had not only brought comfort to the elderly residents but had also inspired me to live a more meaningful life, one that valued the stories of others and cherished the memories that shaped us.
As I drifted off to sleep that night, I imagined the residents at the nursing home, their faces lit up with a sense of purpose as they recounted their lives to the young woman. I imagined their stories, their laughter, their tears, all preserved on the pages of her journal, a testament to their lives, a legacy for future generations. And I knew that in a small way, I too was contributing to the preservation of those stories, by sharing my own and by reminding myself of the importance of listening, of connecting, and of cherishing the memories that make us who we are.
The world, I realized, is filled with stories waiting to be told, with lives waiting to be remembered. And in the quiet moments, in the simple acts of kindness, we can all play a part in ensuring that those stories live on.
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