My Two Cents

by Michele Tester

Regrets? Maybe A Few

I believe that when you look back on your life, you will always have more regrets for what you didn’t do than what you did, even if it turned out less than desirable. The events and plans that you let fear or anxiety drive your decision to go or not to go. The goal that you didn’t quite meet, maybe because you were afraid of failure or judgement. The words you left unsaid, maybe because you thought you had more time or maybe because you were afraid of how those words would come across. Fear, that nasty passenger, and anxiety, that relentless side-kick, tend to steal our wheel and direct us, even if we are subconsciously unaware they are even in our car.

Looking in my rearview mirror on my life so far, I can definitely peg the times that I chose “not to” and that I now wish “I had.” And, sadly, I’ll never know how it could have turned out. The saddest thing is, even realizing this truth, I still do it. Sadder still, for me, I think I regret the words I never spoke, the things I never said, most of all.

I’ve attended two funerals over the past few months. One of them was for my own sister. Taken too soon, too young.

My sister was the middle child in my family of five siblings, me being the youngest. We didn’t always see eye-to-eye. Our personalities were vastly different. I was always the reserved, quiet one. She was always the loud, uninhibited one. But she was my sister. She was my family. And we did share some great times, memories that still make me smile and laugh to this day.

My sister fought an arduous battle against Multiple Sclerosis and lost. I watched her over the past several years suffer in insurmountable pain, especially the last months of her life. I was there. Every time I visited her, I wanted to ask her some questions I had about various things and talk to her about some issues that never got settled between us. But I never did. And then, death ripped the chance from me. My sister wasn’t always the easiest person to talk to. But I should have pushed. I should have tried. Even if she had yelled at me and told me to get out, looking back now, I would have known that at least I had tried.

I wrote and spoke her eulogy at her Celebration of Life service. I had her very few possessions she owned boxed and stored at my house. I never went through them. Another regret. Because if I had, I would have come to know just how very sentimental my sister actually was. I never knew that. I would have never guessed that. I’m pretty sure anyone who knew my sister would not have thought that either. I found a poem that I had written her when I was a kid. I found a key chain that I had given her when I was young, my handwriting on the back, “Even though you’re sometimes mean to me, I still love you. Your little sis, Michele.” She had kept them all those years. I found cards, probably every card she ever received, plus letters and drawings that my children had done and given to her. A plethora of sentimental momentos, the last things she held on to, items she obviously cherished.

Philosophically, some frameworks view regret as a painful attachment to the past that should be minimized, while others argue that regret is an essential teacher, helping us to learn and to make a different choice the next time.

Maybe regret helps us to clarify what we truly value and spotlights what matters most to us. That’s what I believe. I can’t ask my sister those things now or talk to her about the topics I wanted to. Maybe next time, I will speak the words. I find peace in knowing that she’s not suffering anymore and that she’s in a better place.

That’s just my two cents. Love you, sis. You will be greatly missed.