A new day. Clouds are around but feeling extremely grateful this morning. Not only for the well wishes, but for the ability for myself and my family to have the time and space to work through emotions.
It’s a true luxury I know we are privileged to have.
Regrets
I like to think I live my life without many regrets. For many years I’ve been focused on the present as much as possible, making sure I spent the most time with the ones I love the most, as well as showing them my love at every opportunity.
But significant life events always trigger a bit of a reset of priorities and review of the decisions made until now. With my Dad passing away this week, it has triggered thoughts of regret when it comes to what I could have done.
I could have told him how much I loved him more, I could have been there more during his final years with deteriorating health, I could have taken my kids to see him last weekend etc.
Back in February, I wrote but never published a post titled ‘The long goodbye’. In it I wrote about my Dad’s health battle with dementia, how it had already taken someone with a zest for life and a true extrovert with a love of conversation, into more of a recluse and a shell of who he was. While he still remembered all of us, I despaired in that post about how the disease would eventually take his memory of us too.
On Tuesday my Dad went into cardiac arrest and passed away. A long history of heart disease finally caught up. While it is sudden and full of grief and mourning, particularly when I had to tell my 14 and 11 year old children, it has also been an odd sense of relief. That dementia hadn’t been able to take away his memory of the ones he loved. He never forgot any of our names. When I saw him last on the Friday prior he was asking me about my wife, the kids and even my 1 year old dog.
There was also relief for him. That he was no longer in distress or pain that we would consistently witness as his mental and physical condition deteriorated.
I think about the regrets again. I told my Dad I loved him, particularly in the final few years as we knew his health was deteriorating. We made visits often to see him, even when at his worst a visit would be a few minutes before he would be asking us to leave so he can rest (I suspect he actually didn’t want us to see him in the state he was).
I start to understand more that they are things I don’t necessarily regret; but just wishes.
No matter how present you are, how grateful you are of the good times and how much you treasure every moment; when the time finally comes you always wish there was more. More opportunities to tell a loved one how much they mean to you. More awareness of what was coming to actually say your goodbyes, give him peace of mind that we would be ok, that we are so grateful for what he’s done for us and that he can rest peacefully.
You always want more. And knowing that it’s no longer possible is the hardest part.
I don’t have many regrets; but I now have a lot more wishes that can never be fulfilled.