My children’s father once said to me, “You’re not the girl I married.” It wasn’t meant as a compliment. Having learned to pick my battles, I refrained from replying, “Thank goodness I grew up from being a compliant little mouse.”
I’m not the woman he said that to either. Life is a process; a journey, and hopefully we grow in wisdom as we move on.
When someone claims to have no regrets, I always wonder how closely they’ve examined the past, or if they were born perfect. My regret list grows longer each year. Lent, is traditionally a time of penitence for past failures, so this year I made a list of regrets. Instead of giving up something, I’ll try to atone for mistakes that foolish girl made, by living differently today. Many of the people I owe amends to are long gone. I’ve found we experience the effect of our own thoughtlessness by living long enough to be in the same shoes, but maybe redemption happens when we do those long neglected right things for the people currently in our lives.
I regret not having written frequently to grandparents who lived in Omaha. I was their only grandchild, and a note from me now and then would have meant the world, but all they got was a brief thank you letter at Christmas and birthdays. As an adult, I could have called them once a week. Yes, my life was busy and hurried, but ten minutes to say hello means a lot.
I learned how wrong I’d been by getting frequent notes from great grandkids who live in Montana. Those missives make our day, our week, even. I could have done that. Should have done that.
I regret not giving more compliments. Not saying thanks for little things, that are never that little. Not noticing when someone was tired and asking if they needed help. My kids knew to do that. One of them sometimes asked me, “Mom, are you tired?” I knew then that I’d been short with him for no reason. I should have sat down to chat with him, while resting.
I regret not spending more time telling stories and listening to my kids. Asking about their hopes and dreams and how their day went. When one of them came into the kitchen and looked hopefully at a cake or pie on the counter and asked, “Is that for us, or are you taking it someplace?” I should have said, “It’s for us, I made another one to take to the potluck.”
I regret not sitting down with a cup of coffee when their dad came in for a break. He asked me to, but I’d claim I could converse just as well while doing the dishes.
I regret not calling my mom daily just to check in, after she was widowed, and especially when she moved to an assisted living facility. I learned how much that brightens a day from the grown children who call me now and then, just to visit.
I regret not stopping more often to kiss my husband on the top of his head when I walk by his recliner, or holding his hand when we walk down the street. Who knows how many tomorrows we have? I don’t want to be regretting that when it’s too late to remedy.
A priest used to close services with this. Thank God I’m not what I once was. Thank God for what I am today. Thank God for a chance to become who I should be.