If you have a conscience, you will experience regret at some time, somewhere, about someone. You cannot avoid it completely, but you can reduce the lingering unhappiness if you are lucky and understand the potential pitfalls ahead.
I hope to show you how.
First, what is regret?
In her book Regret: the Persistence of the Possible, Janet Landman likens it to the dilemma of coming to a fork in the road and making a choice. You walk down the chosen path until you realize your selection isn’t as satisfactory as you hoped. “I should have gone the other way.”
No matter which lane you pick, “the persistence of the possible” is present. Nothing in life is without blemishes, but in your imagination, the alternative — the avenue you didn’t travel — remains idealized as a better option.
Perfection resides in your mind alone – in the world of abstraction and fantasy. The perfect job, the perfect mate, the perfect performance of whatever kind.
Sometimes, you can retrace your steps and begin again — a kind of do-over. However, the one thing you cannot change is something done or not done to someone lost to you — irrevocably out of reach because of distance or death.
Yes, occasionally, you can call or write a living person and apologize without excuses for your behavior. Perhaps he will allow you to make up for the harm you did in words or deeds. But death is the red line impossible to cross. Your chance has passed, and now he is gone.
You cannot say “I love you” to one you loved but never told. You cannot ask them to utter those words to you. Nor can you discuss the history you share.
The decades of memories only he contained vanish unless a close confidant fills in a few of the puzzle pieces you seek. Knowledge of where he came from, what he did in life, and how he met his spouse all disappear.
Some regrets are possible to predict. Imagine dear friends you have not spoken with or seen for a time. If you assume they will live indefinitely, the Grim Reaper may punish you for waiting.
The chance of an accident or medical emergency rises as the months pass, not to mention the slow development of natural causes as he moves toward the end of life. Without knowledge of his status, you discover the demise too late.
What then, while you and the other still share a future on earth? Call or email him. Make arrangements to meet. Travel to do so if necessary. Avoid the possible disappointment of taking action too late or not at all.
Some of us, perhaps all of us, believe time is on our side. The friend or loved one is healthy, young enough, and cautious, we say to ourselves. Genetic inheritance predicts a long life for him, we like to think, despite no guarantee.
Maybe you have never told him how much he means to you. That’s what email and letters are for, but face-to-face contact is better than Zoom, more personal, and more touching. Are you afraid to cry? No one will prevent you. The sincerity of your words will be enlarged thereby.
Our parents and those older than ourselves rank high on most lists of the people we should visit, speak with, embrace, or all three. Too many clients in my psychotherapy career never heard they were loved. Too few addressed the other injuries they believed the parent inflicted.
As hard as reconciliation is to accomplish, living mothers, fathers, and siblings provide the chance to put right their wrongs simply by their continuing existence.
Many believe talking with seniors about their inevitable death is improper. One thinks the parent or older relative will be discomforted and will assume the questioner intends to discover or influence an inheritance.
Some might, but not all. My father agreed to complete a videotaped four-hour history I conducted with him when he was 74. He understood the reason I made the request. Were he guaranteed a lifetime to match Methuselah,* the chance to consult him, keep him close, ask questions, and display my love would long be available.
I wanted to retain something of him beyond the time of his death — his voice, his movements, his life story, and our way of relating. This video was for me, my brothers, my children, and their kids to receive and witness. Those hours brought my dad and me closer.
Consider personalizing what I have written here — applying it to your life. Unfortunately, some people you might have spoken with perished too soon. As Goethe wrote, “Names are like sound and smoke.” Here and gone.
If you are experiencing guilt over lost opportunities, ask yourself if the departed was the sort of person who would hold a grudge. Think back and recall if she or he would have wished for your continued happiness. In many cases, the answers to these two questions will be no and yes, in order.
Mourn their loss and remember the goodness in them that would have enabled their kindness. Indeed, perhaps they never gave a single thought to the injury you inflicted nor carried it inside. They would have thought of you with fondness even today.
Then, having accepted the truth of their unspoken forgiveness, forgive the only one left to forgive.
Yourself.
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*Methuselah was a biblical patriarch who lived 969 years.
The top photo is of a sculpture by Michal Klajban called Passing Time, located in Christchurch, New Zealand. Next is an Analog Clock animation by CeeWhite. It is followed by a photo of Regret (Verdun, Meuse), a city limit sign by Havang. Finally, a 19th-century watercolor of Two Men Shaking Hands on Meeting. All of these are sourced from Wikimedia Commons.
