Sometimes I am not a very big person. I like to think I am kind and generous. I like to think that my norm is to be forgiving and understanding. No one is all the time. We are human and we fail at perfection most moments of our days.
I look back on my past relationships and I see I have not always been good at an ending. My thoughts and my feelings and my spirit is sometimes too angry to allow the better things to shine through.

I recall a recent ending, not too recent and not too distant, but close enough that I still think on it. There is a single moment in the ending that I do not regret. Only in one of the moments did I shine in and none of the others.

We had been arguing—Mr. Music and I. This is not something I did or do well. I am not good at sustaining any type of argument as I usually shut down with embarrassment or fear of saying the wrong things and hearing the wrong things thrown back at me. Yet, here I was, arguing—loudly and shamefully acting the fool.

“I don’t know why we were ever even together. You are absolutely nothing I ever wanted!”

And Mr. Music, “The sound of your voice makes me want to jump out of this car!”

It was furious and bitter and hurtful. However, the horrible things we said to each other were painfully true. I pulled the car up to the train station; I felt like I couldn’t get away fast enough as I was seeing various shades of blinding red. I am sure he felt the same as he opened the car and began to stand as we threw our last parting shots out in the humid summer air. Except—I looked at him then and everything changed and I grabbed his hand tightly.

“Why are you even touching me?” he yelled.

“I wish you well.” I whispered.

“What?” Mr. Music looked stunned.

“I wish you well. I wish you every happiness. I wish you the best life possible. I wish you to connect to someone truly and to love and to be completely loved how you need.” and I let him go.

He stood still, with the car door open, staring at me, “I wish you well. I wish it for you too.” and he turned and ran to catch the coming train.

Did we get back together? No. But it mattered.

I think about all the times I have said good bye in my life and mostly, I can’t imagine in that moment of parting that I want the best for anyone at that time. I don’t think it’s quite common to be able to do so in the beginning of the heartache. Maybe we can say it later, after we have stepped away and healed some.

If we care about someone, if they meant something to us, if we loved them—we should wish them well. We can’t always do so in the moment but eventually we should be able to.

Not that I intend to have or want to have many more good-bye’s or even more good-bye’s at all, I only hope I can stop for a second and whisper those same words and mean them as I did that morning. They were the only words I didn’t regret speaking. They were the only words that I didn’t mind hanging there between us.


Monika M. Basile