Regrets

There is probably a time in every adult's life when we realize that our parents won't be around forever. For some of us, this happens earlier in life and suddenly, for others the illness of a parent lingers, and the child becomes the caretaker. I can't think of any scenario that is not painful, or any relationship that is perfect, and at the end of the life of a family member, there are always regrets.

We don't choose our families. It's a crapshoot, we are who we are, no matter how hard we try to be otherwise. There is the unspoken rule that you must love your parents even if they dislike you for being less than what they wanted you to be. We become separated the moment we begin to think for ourselves, our first steps lead us onto a path all our own. When religion divides families, often the ones who are judged harshly create a space for themselves away from their loved ones in order to have some sort of comfort zone, a place you call home where you can be the person that you truly are. We create a fictional account of our lives away, one that fits into something that is acceptable, a bachelor uncle, the aunt with the "roommate", the cousin who went bad.

Regrets are those opportunities that we ignored. The time when we were too tired to return a phone call. The year we decided that the new couch was more important than a donation to Darfur.org. The holiday we spent away from our parents because we couldn't tell one more lie about our "Boyfriend". Our failure to connect with other humans makes us lonely, and perpetuates the disfunction that is a part of American life. The lines we draw between ourselves and our fellow citizens, lines of race, of gender, of class, of religion, of country, of ideology, keep us from the thing we need most from each other.

Reach out. Cross the line. Care.

No Regrets.

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