Regret: A Memorial

I am not one to live with regrets.  It's something that I feel is counter productive - much like the feeling of guilt.  Guilt and regret go hand in hand, and there is really nothing good that comes from holding onto either feeling if one is to live a happy and full life.  They do have some purpose though.  My thinking is that guilt and regret serve to help a person change so they don't come across similar situations in the future.  But once a change has taken place, that regret shouldn't reside in you.

That said, I am feeling pangs of regret this week.  Monday was my grandad's memorial service, and my family and I went.  It was very casual, as he would have wanted, and some of his old friends and family got up to tell stories about him.  It was open to everyone.  The thing I regret is not saying anything.  At the time, I could think of absolutely nothing to say.  Isn't that horrible?  I wasn't close with him, but in the past few years, I had gotten to know him a little differently, especially when his health began to decline.  There was love between us, and I regret not sharing that.  So, I thought, to help myself let go of this, I would write about it.  This is what I should have said:

My grandad wasn't a man of many words.  He was a man's man; a hockey playing, beer drinking, rodeo man.  He was, for lack of a better word to describe him, tough.  I don't have any funny stories about him, but there are a few things that he gave me.  I will take these things with me for the rest of my life, in his memory.  My grandad and I didn't have long phone conversations, or even long visits, but I know that he thought of me.  He never missed sending me a birthday card and Christmas card, even after my grandma passed.  He would always put something in the card, be it cash or a gift certificate.  I know for a fact that he thought of me.

Grandad wasn't the most affectionate person either.  But what I remember of him was that he always had a smile ready for me.  Usually, when I visited my grandma, Grandad was on the couch watching some kind of sport, but he always had a smile.  I always knew he had a soft spot for me.  I knew he looked forward to my visits.  When he was moved into palliative care, he would light up when we came into the room.  My visits, noisy children and all, seemed to bring him happiness.

From my grandad, I will take a kind of strength and resilience you rarely see these days.  That man could withstand just about anything.  He had terminal cancer, and wasn't supposed to live as long as he did, but he continued on.  He was in pain, but he rarely complained.  He kept pushing.  In my last conversation with him, he told me that he'd be seeing lots more of me, and not to worry.  The man had a collapsed lung, a broken hip and was experiencing kidney failure, but he wouldn't give up.  He told me he loved me.  I held his hand and cried.  He had absolutely no physical strength, but wouldn't let go.  He was amazingly resilient.  In the end, his ailments overtook him, but I can tell you this:  he fought tooth and nail.

I will take a knowledge that though he didn't really know how to show it, he loved me.  He thought of me, and he enjoyed my company.  I will always remember his strength.

Thanks Grandad.  I hope you are at peace now.