Regrets

The thing about death that makes it difficult for me to grasp is the finality of it. The miracle of life--this one unique life unlike no other who has ever lived on this earth--is gone forever. Forever. Once that last breath has been taken, there are no do-overs. All opportunities to right the wrong, to make amends, to avoid regrets are lost. The following was spoken at the funeral of my mother.  She was born on February 26, 1922 and she died on her ninety-second birthday, February 26, 2014.

A regret is a terrible thing to waste. Why throw away perfectly good regrets when you can beat yourself up with them, wallow in them and feel bad about what you should have, could have done. If only I’d done this. If only I’d done that. If only.

It was with many regrets that I sat on the edge of Mother’s bed one week ago today and thought, “If only I’d done more, if only I’d been more attentive, if only I’d been more understanding, tolerant, less critical; if only I’d been more loving. If only, if only, if only.”

Now she was leaving us; time with Mother was running out. The room was quiet; she was quiet (which if you knew my mother, you know that is very unusual) and she was peaceful. I held her hand and told her over and over and over again that I loved her and that she was not alone. Then, because regret is a terrible thing for me to waste, I apologized for not being the unconditional loving daughter that she deserved. As a mother she had done her very best. As a daughter I could have done better. And I asked for forgiveness. I think she heard me. I hope she forgave me.

Regret is NOT a terrible thing to waste. Get rid of them. Don’t let regrets be part of your story. There’s still time. When you love someone, don’t assume they know it. By your actions show them you love them and then tell them over and over and over again.