I learned early on that you must mean what you say. This was encouraged through two books with accompanying tapes called “Gratitude” and “Little White Lies”. As a child, it was reinforced every time someone died. I’d recall their lessons and feel utterly guilty at 8 years old for having secrets.
Did you get to “say goodbye”? What was the last conversation? An argument? Shooting the shit? How long ago was that?
Death teaches you about the process of grief and letting go. Surrounded by this reality, I knew about last chances, last moments. Times when I knew people would die before I saw them again.
It won’t make you rest easier because you had a nice conversation before the person passed. It won’t make anything different when the relationship is over. It’s an illusion. To make you feel better or worse.
I believe we oft romanticize that endings for every situation be happy. Lose a job. I want it on my terms. Break up. My terms. Moving. My terms. But there are far more elements involved to shape each experience into one that’s easy to digest.
Throw up and go to bed angry if you need to.
If you wake up and can still live with yourself…last words were notarized.