Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "friendship"
Because you are Still Here
I keep seeing her stare at me from the picture on my china cabinet. Her smile is vivid in the picture as much as it was in real life. And I wish, how I wish, that she were sitting next to me at my dining room table and laughing with me as we had so many times over the years. She was my best friend, and she died almost three years ago. The missing part hasn’t lessened in the least.
Recently was the anniversary of the last time we went out together. So I am blue, and sad, and laughing through tears as I remember that crazy night. And I want to tell every woman something they should already know; don’t think you have forever because you don’t. Don’t take one moment for granted because you don’t know when it all will end.
Patty and I raised children together, went through divorces together and also learned to date all over in a different era we were both unfamiliar with. We liked to say we were “relationship delayed” as if somehow, twenty years of each of us not dating, we were stuck in teenage girl years as the rules we dated by. We did the typical things all women do, we over analyzed every word a man said. Every action was scrutinized by the “what did he mean by that?” We chatted all hours of the night over the little things that make up a life and the things that make up a relationship. And we grew up together in our last few years we were together as we suffered tragedies and blessings.
Patty was my one and only night out on New Year’s Eve as an adult. On the way to the party, she spoke of her late love of her life that had passed away two months before. She spoke of her last New Year’s Eve with him, “We danced to Al Green, Let’s Stay Together, and we knew it would most likely be our last, but we knew too, that we loved each other more than anything in the world and it would be okay, and that it was worth it. Even losing him, to have had that in my life, it was worth it.”
I am glad that I really listened to Patty all those years. I am glad I really heard the things she said about life and love and relationships. I am glad I was never too busy and neither was she. I am glad there is no regret in my heart that I was not there enough or that I missed any moments. I was there, and I savored each moment. I appreciated her. I felt lucky to know her. We made a difference in each other’s lives.
All of the stories she told me, all of her hurts and joys, I now tell her daughters and my own daughters. I feel blessed to be able to pass it on—to be able to help her daughters know her even better than they already did. I don’t need to help them feel lucky—they already do. But I do try to give the advice their mother gave me.
She went out into the world first on her own and helped guide me through my own private journey. She let me make my own mistakes and never said, “I told you so.” But instead, “It’ll be okay.” She was my voice in the dark, the one I could call day or night. I was hers too. And now I am a voice in the dark in hers and my girls’ lives. I hope I can live up to her legacy and be the comfort she was to me.
I celebrated Patty’s oldest daughters twenty first birthday a few days ago. Patty should have been there with us physically, I kept thinking. I shared with her, her first legal drink. We toasted her mother. We laughed a bit and cried a bit. We missed the other girls not being there with us. But I realized too, that she is always with us. She hasn’t left us after all this time. Her laughter lingers in each of us, her words still are as important today as they were years ago. The place where she used to be isn’t empty of her; it is filled with the love she left behind as she stepped into the next part of her journey. And I do believe, “It will be okay.” as she always told me.
Monika M. Basile
Recently was the anniversary of the last time we went out together. So I am blue, and sad, and laughing through tears as I remember that crazy night. And I want to tell every woman something they should already know; don’t think you have forever because you don’t. Don’t take one moment for granted because you don’t know when it all will end.
Patty and I raised children together, went through divorces together and also learned to date all over in a different era we were both unfamiliar with. We liked to say we were “relationship delayed” as if somehow, twenty years of each of us not dating, we were stuck in teenage girl years as the rules we dated by. We did the typical things all women do, we over analyzed every word a man said. Every action was scrutinized by the “what did he mean by that?” We chatted all hours of the night over the little things that make up a life and the things that make up a relationship. And we grew up together in our last few years we were together as we suffered tragedies and blessings.
Patty was my one and only night out on New Year’s Eve as an adult. On the way to the party, she spoke of her late love of her life that had passed away two months before. She spoke of her last New Year’s Eve with him, “We danced to Al Green, Let’s Stay Together, and we knew it would most likely be our last, but we knew too, that we loved each other more than anything in the world and it would be okay, and that it was worth it. Even losing him, to have had that in my life, it was worth it.”
I am glad that I really listened to Patty all those years. I am glad I really heard the things she said about life and love and relationships. I am glad I was never too busy and neither was she. I am glad there is no regret in my heart that I was not there enough or that I missed any moments. I was there, and I savored each moment. I appreciated her. I felt lucky to know her. We made a difference in each other’s lives.
All of the stories she told me, all of her hurts and joys, I now tell her daughters and my own daughters. I feel blessed to be able to pass it on—to be able to help her daughters know her even better than they already did. I don’t need to help them feel lucky—they already do. But I do try to give the advice their mother gave me.
She went out into the world first on her own and helped guide me through my own private journey. She let me make my own mistakes and never said, “I told you so.” But instead, “It’ll be okay.” She was my voice in the dark, the one I could call day or night. I was hers too. And now I am a voice in the dark in hers and my girls’ lives. I hope I can live up to her legacy and be the comfort she was to me.
I celebrated Patty’s oldest daughters twenty first birthday a few days ago. Patty should have been there with us physically, I kept thinking. I shared with her, her first legal drink. We toasted her mother. We laughed a bit and cried a bit. We missed the other girls not being there with us. But I realized too, that she is always with us. She hasn’t left us after all this time. Her laughter lingers in each of us, her words still are as important today as they were years ago. The place where she used to be isn’t empty of her; it is filled with the love she left behind as she stepped into the next part of her journey. And I do believe, “It will be okay.” as she always told me.
Monika M. Basile
Pulling Through
Will I make it?
This is a question I recently heard a young woman ask of herself. I have asked myself that same question as I am sure many women do.
I wonder why we as women have such a shaky faith in ourselves to get through the hardest times of our lives. Why is it that in the midst of chaos or heartache, there is a voice that whispers, “Will I make it?” and then we wait—to see if an answer comes out of the darkest moments? If we are still here, then obviously the answer has come.
I am not sure if men have that same voice or not. I have never been a man so I can not presume to know what they think. It just appears that men have much more faith in themselves. I hear them say, “I’ll figure it out.” and “I’ll find the answer.” I rarely hear them say, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.” Is it a conditioning in their lives or is there something, inherent inside of men, to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel even if it’s just a tiny pin prick and barely visible?
When each of my daughters was born, I held them in my arms and I wept. Yes, out of joy but also out of sadness. I thought about every woman in those first moments. I thought of each heartache that a woman experiences. I thought that someday these girl children of mine would know exactly what it really was to hurt and hurt deeply. I wished with everything inside me to prevent it. That isn’t possible, I know. Will they make it? I’m not sure, but I sure as hell will be pulling these young women through all of it as I do with all of the women in my life. Just as so many women have done in my life.
Men wonder why we women rally round when one of us is in need. They wonder how a battle two years long of not speaking to each other is forgotten in seconds when we hear, “I don’t know if I’ll get through this…” They wonder why a middle of the night phone call doesn’t bother us if we can be of help. They wonder how we can cry so easily with the dear women in our world. It’s because each of us are hearing the echo of our own little voice of doubt. We live with this fear of if one of us does not make it, then we might not either. And we know too, that any little thing we can do to make it better will make some part of it better.
The women in our lives insist we keep going even when we want most of all to give up. They pull us through and out and up and away from what we cannot handle alone and from what we feel we will not survive. And the men in our lives stand beside us, behind us, in front of us—believing whole heartedly that we will get through it.
Will you make it? I insist, along with every woman in your life around you.
Monika M. Basile
This is a question I recently heard a young woman ask of herself. I have asked myself that same question as I am sure many women do.
I wonder why we as women have such a shaky faith in ourselves to get through the hardest times of our lives. Why is it that in the midst of chaos or heartache, there is a voice that whispers, “Will I make it?” and then we wait—to see if an answer comes out of the darkest moments? If we are still here, then obviously the answer has come.
I am not sure if men have that same voice or not. I have never been a man so I can not presume to know what they think. It just appears that men have much more faith in themselves. I hear them say, “I’ll figure it out.” and “I’ll find the answer.” I rarely hear them say, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.” Is it a conditioning in their lives or is there something, inherent inside of men, to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel even if it’s just a tiny pin prick and barely visible?
When each of my daughters was born, I held them in my arms and I wept. Yes, out of joy but also out of sadness. I thought about every woman in those first moments. I thought of each heartache that a woman experiences. I thought that someday these girl children of mine would know exactly what it really was to hurt and hurt deeply. I wished with everything inside me to prevent it. That isn’t possible, I know. Will they make it? I’m not sure, but I sure as hell will be pulling these young women through all of it as I do with all of the women in my life. Just as so many women have done in my life.
Men wonder why we women rally round when one of us is in need. They wonder how a battle two years long of not speaking to each other is forgotten in seconds when we hear, “I don’t know if I’ll get through this…” They wonder why a middle of the night phone call doesn’t bother us if we can be of help. They wonder how we can cry so easily with the dear women in our world. It’s because each of us are hearing the echo of our own little voice of doubt. We live with this fear of if one of us does not make it, then we might not either. And we know too, that any little thing we can do to make it better will make some part of it better.
The women in our lives insist we keep going even when we want most of all to give up. They pull us through and out and up and away from what we cannot handle alone and from what we feel we will not survive. And the men in our lives stand beside us, behind us, in front of us—believing whole heartedly that we will get through it.
Will you make it? I insist, along with every woman in your life around you.
Monika M. Basile
