Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "love"
a Gathering of Angels
There is a privilege in loving someone so much that you are willing to share in their misery.
It is easy, so damn easy to love someone when everything is going good and the world is full of rainbows and butterflies. But the true test of love is to not run away when those you love are in the worst moments of their lives, including when it hurts you to be there.
It is an odd thing I have witnessed lately—these moments, when the shear pain and misery entailed in loving someone is the testimony to the greatest acts of caring. And I guess it is a surprise, though it shouldn’t be, that there are so many people in the world still capable of the great capacity to be there truly through thick and thin.
I have watched a “gathering” of sorts of people loving each other in the deepest times of sadness. Rather than depress me—it fills my heart with a quiet joy. It makes me feel blessed to have the privilege of watching such miracles and to also be a part of them.
I have been visiting the psych ward inpatient unit each evening. Someone I love has been there in the recent months. I have watched so many families come and go and have watched those who have no one to come and go. I have watched the faithfulness in love and I have taken part.
A woman in particular, extremely ill, many days she calls her husband names. He brings to her each day a bag of potato chips, a Starbucks coffee and a candy bar. Her favorites. Sometimes she is aware of him and hates him and many times she is lost in her own world. I watched this man lose patience and walk away from the double locked unit, but wait in the hall for her to calm down, unable to leave her. And the last night I visited, when her memory was clear and quiet, I watched them holding hands and whispering as they must have done when they were young together. I could see in her face who she used to be and that she is beautiful.
My dear uncle died a few weeks ago. My family gathered, friends, his children and his wife to be with him at the end of his life. And in the midst of the misery, the greatest love shines so dominantly obvious. I watched my aunt’s face; tenderness is never hidden by tears. Love is never hidden by pain. And I thought how lucky we all are to be brave enough to be here. There are so many who can’t, so many who are unable to bare the awfulness of it all. Yet, it is simply a privilege to be there and not only a heartache. Someone entering the world is a physical pain but leaving it is a heart pain. In the faces gathered are the touches of love in their tears. Grief is the deepest part of love and it leaves a permanent mark on us as it should.
I have witnessed in the past few months, old grudges fall away, forgiveness granted, and people re-enter into others lives because of miserable circumstances. I have been blessed to notice how the people we love come running even when they are mad at us. I have realized that no matter what the distance between people—many are willing to bridge it to be part of our hurts.
We gather to show our love—not only at happy times but at heinous ones too. We people of this world. We are not the pathetic specs of humanity that some believe we are. We are all connected by hurt and pain, joy and life. And we are luckiest when we love deeply enough to stand beside or in the middle of someone’s misery—just as lucky as when we are part of their happiness. When we love, we are never alone. We instead become part of the gathering of life.
Monika M. Basile
It is easy, so damn easy to love someone when everything is going good and the world is full of rainbows and butterflies. But the true test of love is to not run away when those you love are in the worst moments of their lives, including when it hurts you to be there.
It is an odd thing I have witnessed lately—these moments, when the shear pain and misery entailed in loving someone is the testimony to the greatest acts of caring. And I guess it is a surprise, though it shouldn’t be, that there are so many people in the world still capable of the great capacity to be there truly through thick and thin.
I have watched a “gathering” of sorts of people loving each other in the deepest times of sadness. Rather than depress me—it fills my heart with a quiet joy. It makes me feel blessed to have the privilege of watching such miracles and to also be a part of them.
I have been visiting the psych ward inpatient unit each evening. Someone I love has been there in the recent months. I have watched so many families come and go and have watched those who have no one to come and go. I have watched the faithfulness in love and I have taken part.
A woman in particular, extremely ill, many days she calls her husband names. He brings to her each day a bag of potato chips, a Starbucks coffee and a candy bar. Her favorites. Sometimes she is aware of him and hates him and many times she is lost in her own world. I watched this man lose patience and walk away from the double locked unit, but wait in the hall for her to calm down, unable to leave her. And the last night I visited, when her memory was clear and quiet, I watched them holding hands and whispering as they must have done when they were young together. I could see in her face who she used to be and that she is beautiful.
My dear uncle died a few weeks ago. My family gathered, friends, his children and his wife to be with him at the end of his life. And in the midst of the misery, the greatest love shines so dominantly obvious. I watched my aunt’s face; tenderness is never hidden by tears. Love is never hidden by pain. And I thought how lucky we all are to be brave enough to be here. There are so many who can’t, so many who are unable to bare the awfulness of it all. Yet, it is simply a privilege to be there and not only a heartache. Someone entering the world is a physical pain but leaving it is a heart pain. In the faces gathered are the touches of love in their tears. Grief is the deepest part of love and it leaves a permanent mark on us as it should.
I have witnessed in the past few months, old grudges fall away, forgiveness granted, and people re-enter into others lives because of miserable circumstances. I have been blessed to notice how the people we love come running even when they are mad at us. I have realized that no matter what the distance between people—many are willing to bridge it to be part of our hurts.
We gather to show our love—not only at happy times but at heinous ones too. We people of this world. We are not the pathetic specs of humanity that some believe we are. We are all connected by hurt and pain, joy and life. And we are luckiest when we love deeply enough to stand beside or in the middle of someone’s misery—just as lucky as when we are part of their happiness. When we love, we are never alone. We instead become part of the gathering of life.
Monika M. Basile
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
The Real Men
The things I admire about men are not what they would ever imagine.
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws becomes something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbor's snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsmanship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. None of those things are really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws becomes something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbor's snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsmanship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. None of those things are really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
15,329 Ways to Wind up in the Same Place...
I think if I see one more article about Valentine’s Day I will scream! (Except for my own)
Let’s just add a few numbers to it to make it more believable.
86 ways to catch a man by the big V Day.
13 ways to make your woman crazy with happiness by the big plans for the romantic weekend.
47 of the worst gifts you could ever buy that will send your true love out screaming in the streets.
6,792 reasons to be happy you are single on Valentine’s Day.
The headlines scream it from every magazine and internet website. How do they know and who the hell are they asking to actually find out what they think they know?
Yet—ashamedly, I have been sucked in and reading these obnoxious articles. I have yet to find one bit of truth in any of it though. Why do I continue to explore what anyone has to say about these matters when I find most of it pure idiocy?
Here is what I have to say about it because I feel the need to add my two cents:
There is no secret formula to finding a man, a woman or your soul mate. It just happens or it doesn’t happen. I bet no one will post that as a draw in for their magazine. It is the truth. If we are all expected to follow some mysterious ritual and dance naked by the light of the moon to bring us our true love—I am sure we all would have done it by now. Instead, we are ourselves, we continue to wait and we continue to hope while we wait.
Romantic plans—the kind where everything has an itinerary down to the time when everyone uses the bathroom, showers and falls asleep—never work. Nothing ever happens as we plan. Life has other ideas and its how we handle all the upsets despite our well thought out plans that matters. The romantic part is simply having someone to go through the catastrophe with you and be able to laugh about it rather than cry.
How can anyone receive a bad gift? If you have thought enough of me to actually present me with something as a token of your affection—I appreciate it. And for those who lament that the flowers are cheesy, the candy is too fattening and the cards are unimaginative—you didn’t deserve it in the first place then. Now that doesn’t mean I want someone to give me a dirty sock wrapped up in shiny paper. But hey—if you think of me…it counts.
The last thing—being single and looking at all the reasons this is a good thing to be on Valentine’s Day. Let’s face it, being alone on Valentine’s Day down right sucks and no one wants to be. How did anyone come up with more than one reason? There is only one true good reason that I can think of that would be good. You could be with the wrong person and know it. I would rather be single than have that.
Have a happy Valentine’s Day. Do it right this year. Simply love and be thankful someone loves you back.
Monika M. Basile
Let’s just add a few numbers to it to make it more believable.
86 ways to catch a man by the big V Day.
13 ways to make your woman crazy with happiness by the big plans for the romantic weekend.
47 of the worst gifts you could ever buy that will send your true love out screaming in the streets.
6,792 reasons to be happy you are single on Valentine’s Day.
The headlines scream it from every magazine and internet website. How do they know and who the hell are they asking to actually find out what they think they know?
Yet—ashamedly, I have been sucked in and reading these obnoxious articles. I have yet to find one bit of truth in any of it though. Why do I continue to explore what anyone has to say about these matters when I find most of it pure idiocy?
Here is what I have to say about it because I feel the need to add my two cents:
There is no secret formula to finding a man, a woman or your soul mate. It just happens or it doesn’t happen. I bet no one will post that as a draw in for their magazine. It is the truth. If we are all expected to follow some mysterious ritual and dance naked by the light of the moon to bring us our true love—I am sure we all would have done it by now. Instead, we are ourselves, we continue to wait and we continue to hope while we wait.
Romantic plans—the kind where everything has an itinerary down to the time when everyone uses the bathroom, showers and falls asleep—never work. Nothing ever happens as we plan. Life has other ideas and its how we handle all the upsets despite our well thought out plans that matters. The romantic part is simply having someone to go through the catastrophe with you and be able to laugh about it rather than cry.
How can anyone receive a bad gift? If you have thought enough of me to actually present me with something as a token of your affection—I appreciate it. And for those who lament that the flowers are cheesy, the candy is too fattening and the cards are unimaginative—you didn’t deserve it in the first place then. Now that doesn’t mean I want someone to give me a dirty sock wrapped up in shiny paper. But hey—if you think of me…it counts.
The last thing—being single and looking at all the reasons this is a good thing to be on Valentine’s Day. Let’s face it, being alone on Valentine’s Day down right sucks and no one wants to be. How did anyone come up with more than one reason? There is only one true good reason that I can think of that would be good. You could be with the wrong person and know it. I would rather be single than have that.
Have a happy Valentine’s Day. Do it right this year. Simply love and be thankful someone loves you back.
Monika M. Basile
The Blame Game
“It’s not you, it’s me...” you’re right—it is you. Sometimes these are the truest words though most people who say them don’t even mean it.
We spend too much time blaming ourselves instead of taking that statement at face value. We know those who say it are really saying, “You’re not what I want. I don’t like you, you did this or that and that really bothered me, etc.” And we forget, that in reality, they do not want or desire or love or need the person we are. It doesn’t have to be because something is inherently wrong with us. It truly means we are not what that person had in mind. It is them and their perception of us.
Most people believe it takes two to make or break a relationship. That isn’t true either—not if we go into a relationship with the intelligent thought of no one—neither you nor me, is perfect. It takes two to build up a life together, but it really only takes one to knock it right down. It takes you or it takes me and sometimes it takes both of us. But it takes at least one to give up, stop trying and not caring.
We all have our little idiosyncrasies or bad habits and odd ways about us. We all have our neurosis, our shortcomings and our insecurities. The people who we choose to share our lives with either accept them or over look them just as we do to theirs. Most people, though they would like to, know they can never change anyone. Yet, many like to hold those things they once over looked before, those things that they once found to be a charming little quirk—as to be the reason to walk away.
I say its bullshit. It isn’t me—it’s YOU!
So many of us out here in this world like to internalize the blame or the exact opposite—wear it like a badge of honor to say, “I must be this awful person. If only I had done this. If only I had said that. If only I had worn the right clothing, had the right job, got a smarter haircut, gone to college, had less drama, been promoted, cooked better, cleaned better, been fatter or thinner or prettier or taller…” and the list can go on and on and on. It becomes quite scary to whittle ourselves away into an absolute shadow of who we really are.
Why can’t we just be our true self—without hiding or pretense and without prayers to the almighty that people do not see who we really are? Someone tell me what is wrong with that picture because it seems very clear and focused to me.
If I stand before you naked with my soul pinned to my shoulder, showing you who I really am and You do not like me—it’s You! All we can really be when it all comes down to it is who we are. If someone doesn’t want what we are, like who we are, need who we are, love who we are or even decides to change their mind—we are still okay.
We still are who we are.
Monika M. Basile
We spend too much time blaming ourselves instead of taking that statement at face value. We know those who say it are really saying, “You’re not what I want. I don’t like you, you did this or that and that really bothered me, etc.” And we forget, that in reality, they do not want or desire or love or need the person we are. It doesn’t have to be because something is inherently wrong with us. It truly means we are not what that person had in mind. It is them and their perception of us.
Most people believe it takes two to make or break a relationship. That isn’t true either—not if we go into a relationship with the intelligent thought of no one—neither you nor me, is perfect. It takes two to build up a life together, but it really only takes one to knock it right down. It takes you or it takes me and sometimes it takes both of us. But it takes at least one to give up, stop trying and not caring.
We all have our little idiosyncrasies or bad habits and odd ways about us. We all have our neurosis, our shortcomings and our insecurities. The people who we choose to share our lives with either accept them or over look them just as we do to theirs. Most people, though they would like to, know they can never change anyone. Yet, many like to hold those things they once over looked before, those things that they once found to be a charming little quirk—as to be the reason to walk away.
I say its bullshit. It isn’t me—it’s YOU!
So many of us out here in this world like to internalize the blame or the exact opposite—wear it like a badge of honor to say, “I must be this awful person. If only I had done this. If only I had said that. If only I had worn the right clothing, had the right job, got a smarter haircut, gone to college, had less drama, been promoted, cooked better, cleaned better, been fatter or thinner or prettier or taller…” and the list can go on and on and on. It becomes quite scary to whittle ourselves away into an absolute shadow of who we really are.
Why can’t we just be our true self—without hiding or pretense and without prayers to the almighty that people do not see who we really are? Someone tell me what is wrong with that picture because it seems very clear and focused to me.
If I stand before you naked with my soul pinned to my shoulder, showing you who I really am and You do not like me—it’s You! All we can really be when it all comes down to it is who we are. If someone doesn’t want what we are, like who we are, need who we are, love who we are or even decides to change their mind—we are still okay.
We still are who we are.
Monika M. Basile
Tuesday at Toni's
This is for you, Aunt Toni, because I am not sure if you really know who you are to us.
I have been blessed to be part of a large Italian family. However, it has only been the past five years that I have been able to come back into the fold. I was estranged from my extended family for most of the years I was married and the minute I decided to end the marriage I crept back, I ran back, I jumped back as quickly as I could. I was welcomed there, at my Aunt Toni’s house. I was made a part of my family as if years had never separated any of us. At Aunt Toni’s house I felt safe and loved and unashamed of what my life had become.
This is you, Aunt Toni. This is the effect you have helped to create in our family and I wonder do you know how the simple olive branches you always reach out are truly what bring us all back? Us nieces and nephews who wander in and out of the family—somehow, we all feel the need to come back at one point or another to you and everything you represent in all of our childhoods.
Aunt Toni was the best aunt any child could hope for. She is still the best aunt to every child that enters her life. She always had time for us and never thought twice to pack up all of us in her bright orange VW beetle and take us skating every weekend. I remember being a tag along throughout her young adult life for shopping trips and then ratting her out to my grandmother by accident and telling how much she spent. I remember sleeping in her room when I spent the night at my grandparents, giant hot pink flowers on the wallpaper and the smell of her perfume on the sheets. And her closet beheld many delights of gorgeous clothing and high heels to try on when she was out, along with the vanity to try on lipsticks and break them and hide them hoping she did not notice.
Aunt Toni always had time to listen, to talk, to play, to tease, to hug and to hold us. She was as silly as we were and I think we knew she actually really liked every single one of us whether we were behaving well or not. She is still like this. In her eyes, there are no bad kids. Just kids. (now I am not saying she is a saint and that some don’t get on her nerves. I am saying she would never let a child know they were on her nerves.)She has never been one to put any of us off. It has always been in times of troubles, “I’m here. Right now. I am here right this minute to help you.”
Today was what we call “Tuesday at Toni’s”. Our family gets together at her house and gathers in the summer. Aunt Toni cooks up a storm and everyone is welcome. Today, as I ate her wonderful stuffed mushrooms I looked around at my family and I felt so very thankful for my dear Aunt. It is her. It is YOU, Aunt Toni, you are the reason we are here. You find us all when we are lost. You reach out, you call us all back and you never give up. I have never known you to stop reaching out to those you love. And because of that we are together. What a blessing to see my Aunts, my Uncle, my parents my cousins and all of the children on just an ordinary day and for no reason other than we want to be together.
I know some are still missing and this makes you sad. But they are coming Aunt Toni. Truly they are. The call of your heart is strong. Sooner or later, we all come back to you and each of us is so thankful that you always want us.
Thank you for never giving up.
Monika M. Basile
I have been blessed to be part of a large Italian family. However, it has only been the past five years that I have been able to come back into the fold. I was estranged from my extended family for most of the years I was married and the minute I decided to end the marriage I crept back, I ran back, I jumped back as quickly as I could. I was welcomed there, at my Aunt Toni’s house. I was made a part of my family as if years had never separated any of us. At Aunt Toni’s house I felt safe and loved and unashamed of what my life had become.
This is you, Aunt Toni. This is the effect you have helped to create in our family and I wonder do you know how the simple olive branches you always reach out are truly what bring us all back? Us nieces and nephews who wander in and out of the family—somehow, we all feel the need to come back at one point or another to you and everything you represent in all of our childhoods.
Aunt Toni was the best aunt any child could hope for. She is still the best aunt to every child that enters her life. She always had time for us and never thought twice to pack up all of us in her bright orange VW beetle and take us skating every weekend. I remember being a tag along throughout her young adult life for shopping trips and then ratting her out to my grandmother by accident and telling how much she spent. I remember sleeping in her room when I spent the night at my grandparents, giant hot pink flowers on the wallpaper and the smell of her perfume on the sheets. And her closet beheld many delights of gorgeous clothing and high heels to try on when she was out, along with the vanity to try on lipsticks and break them and hide them hoping she did not notice.
Aunt Toni always had time to listen, to talk, to play, to tease, to hug and to hold us. She was as silly as we were and I think we knew she actually really liked every single one of us whether we were behaving well or not. She is still like this. In her eyes, there are no bad kids. Just kids. (now I am not saying she is a saint and that some don’t get on her nerves. I am saying she would never let a child know they were on her nerves.)She has never been one to put any of us off. It has always been in times of troubles, “I’m here. Right now. I am here right this minute to help you.”
Today was what we call “Tuesday at Toni’s”. Our family gets together at her house and gathers in the summer. Aunt Toni cooks up a storm and everyone is welcome. Today, as I ate her wonderful stuffed mushrooms I looked around at my family and I felt so very thankful for my dear Aunt. It is her. It is YOU, Aunt Toni, you are the reason we are here. You find us all when we are lost. You reach out, you call us all back and you never give up. I have never known you to stop reaching out to those you love. And because of that we are together. What a blessing to see my Aunts, my Uncle, my parents my cousins and all of the children on just an ordinary day and for no reason other than we want to be together.
I know some are still missing and this makes you sad. But they are coming Aunt Toni. Truly they are. The call of your heart is strong. Sooner or later, we all come back to you and each of us is so thankful that you always want us.
Thank you for never giving up.
Monika M. Basile
Letter to the Man of My Future
There are things you will not know about me in the beginning. We are supposed to show our best sides first and be on our best behavior in the beginning. We are imposed upon with that rule by whatever deity created it.
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
Simple Joys
Today is a day when I need to find my simple joys.
Today is a day when I need to look at all the little things that I have experienced that add up to living in a lifetime, because I have been having a day where I have been mourning things I have missed so far. Today is a day when I need to take account for moments that I have been lucky enough to know.
I have made love in a thunderstorm. Not sex, love.
I have held newborn babies in my arms.
I have watched someone cured though I thought they would die from the cure.
I have watched someone die.
I have watched someone survive the deepest tragedy and go on.
I have survived multiple tragedies and I am still kicking.
I have a job that I feel good about going to. I see amazing people every day accomplish things I never imagined was possible.
I saw a shooting star once while I lay on a road because the stars made me dizzy. I shared that experience with my dear old dog. I am not sure if he saw it too.
I have had a good night’s sleep here and there.
I have tasted caviar. I didn’t like it but I got the chance to taste it.
I listened to every single one of my grandfather’s stories and remembered them all.
I saw a moon-bow once in the middle of the night after I had been crying. Not many people in the world know what one is let alone get to actually see its magnificence.
I have had many things to laugh about.
I have cried just as many tears.
I can really feel every part of my life whether it is good or bad.
I have read good books and been touched by them.
I have written a good book which touched others.
I was brave more than once even when I didn’t want to be.
I have been able to fly in my dreams and that is the most exhilarating feeling.
I have eaten the best cheesecake.
I drove a Mercedes once.
I had someone once love me most of all for a moment.
I loved people anyway.
I had a near death experience. It made me appreciate my life more than I already did.
I own a velvet painting of Elvis and Jesus in heaven—instant laugh. I also own an Elvis purse that someone compliments each and every day.
I have the best sister anyone could ever have and we have never had an argument in all these years.
I have a brother, who can be a know it all—but actually does know it all and has taught me some of what he knows.
I have an hourglass that keeps exactly an hour’s worth of time.
I survived the blizzard of ’79 and ’11.
I have about a hundred different bottles of nail polish to paint my toes with.
I have seen an abundance of rainbows.
I loved several people most of all.
I took a picture with a naked man sculpture. I got in trouble for it but it made one of the dear teachers in my life laugh. It was worth it.
I have had the truest friend. She passed away but I am glad I had her for the time I did.
I have had the biggest ambitions and actually accomplished a few.
I sang in a musical and was damn good.
I believed in someone when everyone else turned away.
I have seen the bluest skies with perfect clouds and captured pictures of them.
I have had just enough to make it more than once.
One time I lost almost everything except my family. Family was the most important thing to keep.
I have had faith—even when I am mad at God.
These are my simple joys. These are the things I need to hold onto on a day like today. I cannot ever say I have had nothing when I have had all of this—and this; this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Monika M. Basile
Today is a day when I need to look at all the little things that I have experienced that add up to living in a lifetime, because I have been having a day where I have been mourning things I have missed so far. Today is a day when I need to take account for moments that I have been lucky enough to know.
I have made love in a thunderstorm. Not sex, love.
I have held newborn babies in my arms.
I have watched someone cured though I thought they would die from the cure.
I have watched someone die.
I have watched someone survive the deepest tragedy and go on.
I have survived multiple tragedies and I am still kicking.
I have a job that I feel good about going to. I see amazing people every day accomplish things I never imagined was possible.
I saw a shooting star once while I lay on a road because the stars made me dizzy. I shared that experience with my dear old dog. I am not sure if he saw it too.
I have had a good night’s sleep here and there.
I have tasted caviar. I didn’t like it but I got the chance to taste it.
I listened to every single one of my grandfather’s stories and remembered them all.
I saw a moon-bow once in the middle of the night after I had been crying. Not many people in the world know what one is let alone get to actually see its magnificence.
I have had many things to laugh about.
I have cried just as many tears.
I can really feel every part of my life whether it is good or bad.
I have read good books and been touched by them.
I have written a good book which touched others.
I was brave more than once even when I didn’t want to be.
I have been able to fly in my dreams and that is the most exhilarating feeling.
I have eaten the best cheesecake.
I drove a Mercedes once.
I had someone once love me most of all for a moment.
I loved people anyway.
I had a near death experience. It made me appreciate my life more than I already did.
I own a velvet painting of Elvis and Jesus in heaven—instant laugh. I also own an Elvis purse that someone compliments each and every day.
I have the best sister anyone could ever have and we have never had an argument in all these years.
I have a brother, who can be a know it all—but actually does know it all and has taught me some of what he knows.
I have an hourglass that keeps exactly an hour’s worth of time.
I survived the blizzard of ’79 and ’11.
I have about a hundred different bottles of nail polish to paint my toes with.
I have seen an abundance of rainbows.
I loved several people most of all.
I took a picture with a naked man sculpture. I got in trouble for it but it made one of the dear teachers in my life laugh. It was worth it.
I have had the truest friend. She passed away but I am glad I had her for the time I did.
I have had the biggest ambitions and actually accomplished a few.
I sang in a musical and was damn good.
I believed in someone when everyone else turned away.
I have seen the bluest skies with perfect clouds and captured pictures of them.
I have had just enough to make it more than once.
One time I lost almost everything except my family. Family was the most important thing to keep.
I have had faith—even when I am mad at God.
These are my simple joys. These are the things I need to hold onto on a day like today. I cannot ever say I have had nothing when I have had all of this—and this; this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Monika M. Basile
Ripples of Love
Sometimes love comes quietly without a fireworks show. Sometimes it is in the silence, in the normalcy and in the peacefulness that we fall in love. Yet, most of us don’t even realize it as we wait for the big ka-bang.
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
