Lingering Regret

It’s happened before. Nothing is wrong. Life is fluid and ordinary; there’s no reason for feelings of melancholy or despondency. It’s as if a letter arrives in my mailbox addressed to someone else and I open it and begin reading before noticing. The content feels incongruous to my tangible life yet somehow unpleasantly familiar, like old, soggy emotions still slightly damp from lingering regret.

My dear, dear friend who passed away in her 98th year told me during her final years that she sometimes felt like she was in purgatory. Though she didn’t expound on the reasons, she said at times she was full of regret about things she could no longer remedy. I always reassured her that we all have regrets, that she was a loving person, that whatever she was feeling could not eclipse the kind-heartedness she’d bestowed on others throughout her lifetime. I didn’t want her to suffer unnecessary remorse; she didn’t deserve clouds to overshadow her remaining years.

I realize now that my friend was being given a chance to lay to rest her sorrows, one by one, before she completed her earth walk. Uncomfortable as it is to have lingering regrets resurface, I am beginning to understand the necessity of me making peace with the faultiness of my humanness, especially my motherhood. Case in point: For years I felt like a bad mother when my grown son reminded me why he hates carrots –because I unreasonably punished him for not finishing his dinner by serving him said leftover carrots the next several meals. Not a heinous crime it nonetheless epitomizes how trying to force someone into compliance can extend beyond childhood to lifelong behaviors. He hates carrots; I wronged my son. Hence regret that shows up uninvited all by itself.

Many of my regrets resurface like an unexpected letter addressed to my old self, someone who has long since moved on in life to better choices, healthier attitudes, a more balanced approach to living in a messy world. Like an evil twin, my old self lurks in my psyche ready to spoil any sunny day. Trailing unfortunate decisions and regrettable actions in her wake, she persists, especially now that I’m retired and growing older. She’s the one who grabs the letter and reads it aloud inside my heart, voice tinged with shaming.

As I choose to lay to rest my sorrows, I remember my own counsel to my beloved friend. I am a loving person, that whatever I’m feeling cannot not eclipse the kind-heartedness I’ve bestowed on others throughout my lifetime. I do not need to suffer unnecessary remorse. I don’t deserve clouds to overshadow my remaining years.

P.S. My son has long since forgiven me –but he still doesn’t eat carrots.