There's one more holiday before the end of 2010. One more chance to end the year by reaching out to family members or acquaintances, estranged for whatever reason. You see, regret is a hard thing to live with. It lodges in our hearts and haunts us. Take it from one who knows.
photo © 2006 Hamed Saber more info (via: Wylio)My biggest regret came the night of October 7, 1992. My husband and I had taken up residence at my parents' home for the weekend while our house was cleaned following an oil furnace explosion.
That night, I heard my father coming up the steps from the basement. He didn't know I was there, sitting alone in the dark living room, crying. I can't remember what I was crying over now, probably some silly something or other, but I do remember that moment when my father, a compassionate soul, who was always quick to reassure and offer empathy, made the final turn to head upstairs to bed. It was one of those gripping moments when something deep insides nudges. This nudge told me to call out from the safety of the dark and say, "Good night. I love you." But I didn't, too absorbed in my own little world of misery.
The next morning I woke up to my mother's voice. "Joe? Joe!" It was her tone that startled me and made me dash upstairs. And it was the sight of my father, head bowed low, unresponsive, that gripped my heart with fear. I was the one to dial 911. And while I was talking to the dispatcher, I watched my father begin the long, slow slide from that kitchen chair to the floor below. I witnessed my mother's rising hysteria as she tried to stop his downward plunge, and I could do nothing except coax her with words to remain calm, because the phone had a cord and it wasn't long.
My father never woke from the coma.
Never spoke to me again.
His eyes never again lit with the joy of seeing me.
I lost all opportunity to ever say those three little words to him that night in the darkness of the living room. Oh, he knew I loved him. I know that now, and knew it then too, deep down inside. I was a Daddy's girl after all. But how my grieving heart would have found relief in knowing my last words to him had been "I love you."
As long as there is life, there remains a chance to say those words and to repair past wrongs. Two of my character's discover this hard truth in Promise of Yesterday. Sometimes I write hard truths into my stories in hopes the words or the message will give rise to change. To reconciliation. To peace and love. Tomorrow is not promised.
Do you have any regrets?
I have nearly the same one. My parents came from Scranton to visit me in New York (a 45 minute drive) and I was having a bad day with a boyfriend, so I wasn't in the mood for a visit) I told them to go home and let me handle my own problems. Four days later my father passed away in his living room chair. I never got the chance to apologize for being short. And when I went down to be with my mom, I noticed that a picture of me that had been sitting in my living room (the day they were at my house), was now on the end table beside my father's chair. I buried that picture with him.
ReplyDeleteWow, Sandra. Thanks for sharing. Yes, we all live with regrets. Your father smiles down upon you from heaven.
ReplyDeleteMy heart breaks over things left unsaid and for things I never should have said. Thankfully, the Lord knows and in Heaven there are no regrets. All the past hurts are wiped out. How those who don't know the Lord must suffer, though, if we with the hope we have even suffer some.
ReplyDeleteHugs Sandra....Thank you for sharing such a private moment...I for one will pay more attentions to those little prompts that pop into my mind....
ReplyDeleteblessings, e
Thanks, fellow Pennies. I appreciate your support in sharing this painful incident. I'm glad to have it outside the walls of my heart and so hope it helps someone.
ReplyDeleteWhat blessed advice! Thank you so much for sharing. Love you, gal!
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