Regrets, and reliefs...

This piece was originally titled "Regrets, in having done it my way" if I'm not mistaken. And this was written first 5 years ago in my friendster blog, before I copied it to vox. Sadly, both site met their demise, and for awhile, I sort of lost this post.

I believe this was one of the first heartfelt post that I wrote. Mostly, I tend to count on my brain to write and my heart rarely takes part, so this post really meant a lot.

I did try to search my files for it, from the office to the ones at home, but got nothing.

And although I believe that anything you put on the net will stay on the net for all eternity, I've almost given up all hope in retrieving this, since googling it proved to be futile.

But then, by some cosmic occurrences, I received the whole thing in my e-mail. And now, here it is...


Regret.

A bitter-tasting pill indeed.

Not something you would choose to swallow on your own, but in the end, you are forced to anyway.

And that’s just the thing about regret, there’s no going around it. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to change the situation, because by the time regret comes knocking, then it’s already too late.

My father passed away 2 weeks ago, just 2 weeks after his 74th birthday.

We used to be so close, he and I. And I still remember how I used to look up to him and depend on him a lot.

But as the years went by, ‘I grew up’ and we began to talk less and less, although we were still living together under the same roof (as the youngest child, the ‘task’ of ‘being there’ for my parents is left to me). And with the hectic schedule of my line of work, plus the fact that I have a wife that owns the right to most of my time and availability, the time that I and Dad ended up spending together was somewhat…lacking.

We never actually talked anymore. You know, the kind that lasts longer than 15 minutes. And we used to do that. Talking, I mean. About everything and anything. Man… We used to be so close, he passed down his antique porn magazines collection to me. But all that had somehow changed. A lot. Until the only kind of talking we had was the "how are you", "where are you going", "hi" and "bye" stuff.

And now that I couldn’t talk to him anymore, ever; thinking back of how it had come to this made me… Regretful..?

I regret the fact that he had asked me oh so long ago to treat him to a fancy steak dinner, and I had agreed to it, but just couldn’t slip in the time. And now there’s no way I could make good on that promise.

I regret that I didn’t spend more time with him when I was home. Just watching TV together and having small talks would’ve been more than enough for him. But now I couldn’t do any of that anymore.

I regret that I didn’t offer myself more often to take him to places. He’s the type that dislikes to bother others much, and thus never asked for much of others, not even from his own children. He’d rather take the bus than ask me or my siblings to take him to the mall. And he wouldn’t even require much of us at the mall, just a simple stroll through the aisles of a supermarket, do a little sight-seeing, that would’ve been enough. And now, I wouldn’t be able to accompany him anywhere or to do any of those things at all, even if I have all the time and the best of intentions.

And I regret in postponing too long to have children and give him a grandchild. Now that my wife is pregnant, my future children won’t be able to get to know their grandfather in person. And I won’t be able to hold my first-born proudly and offer it to Dad to be held.

There are plenty more that I regret not having done with Dad while I still had the chance, and now that I lost that, the regret just got worse.

And you know what’s so damn bloody ironic? I’m currently working on an ad campaign, aptly themed as “No Regret”.

I’m so sorry, Dad.