Introduction:
In her soft, steady voice, Priscilla Presley speaks about loss in a way that feels both intimate and devastatingly universal. Losing Lisa Marie, she admits, nearly broke her. It was the second darkest day of her life — the first being the day Elvis died. For a moment, grief felt unsurvivable. And then reality intervened. She still had a son who needed her. As a mother, she had no choice but to keep standing, even when her heart wanted to collapse.
Time did not soften the pain quickly. Accepting that Lisa Marie was truly gone took longer than anyone could see. Priscilla reveals that her daughter’s death was not sudden in spirit, even if it was shocking in reality. After the loss of her son Benjamin, Lisa Marie carried a grief so heavy she no longer wanted to live. Benjamin was, in Priscilla’s words, “the love of her life.” Lisa tried to stay for her twin daughters. She truly tried. But the weight became unbearable.
In recalling the final hours, Priscilla’s honesty is almost unbearable. A planned drink after the Golden Globes never happened. Lisa said she didn’t feel well. Priscilla told her to go home and rest. None of them knew how serious it was. Hours later, Priscilla stood in a hospital room, surrounded by family, watching and waiting, hoping for a miracle that never came. When the doctor said Lisa was gone, disbelief settled in before sorrow could even breathe.
Yet this interview is not only about loss. It is also about truth — especially the truth about Elvis. Tired of decades of myths, sensational headlines, and outright lies, Priscilla chose to write her own story. She speaks calmly but firmly: Elvis was not violent. He had a temper, yes, but never hurt anyone. Scenes dramatized in films were often distortions created long after his death. She loved him deeply, met him young, and grew up in a life she never planned — yet one she does not regret.
Her strength shines brightest in her role as a mother. She speaks candidly about guiding her son through drug withdrawal, sleeping beside him night after night, rubbing his legs as pain tore through his body. She never walked away. She never stopped answering the phone. Because, as she says, you cannot abandon your child — even when it hurts you to watch them suffer.
Today, Priscilla finds purpose in what remains: her son’s recovery, Riley’s happiness, her grandchildren’s laughter, and the fans who have stood beside her for decades. At nearly 80, she refuses to live in age or regret. She lives in movement, connection, and memory.
Grief, she says, never truly leaves. But love — love is what keeps you alive.