Oh, there are so many do-overs I’d like to have that it would just be painful to think about them and try to pick the right one.
But I can tell you the one I’ve wished for the most often.
The last time I visited my father on the opposite coast, he was failing, and I knew before I left that I wasn’t going to see him alive again.
One of those last mornings, still trying to be self-sufficient, he got very confused and made a mess out of trying to get his own breakfast. I hadn’t wanted to take away his independence, so I had let him go ahead with it, but he’d just lost himself by then. Looking miserable, he tried to apologize.
I don’t have the instincts of a born nurse. Being pretty young and inexperienced then, I was in over my head trying to look after him, and I didn’t know how to handle things like that. So I tried to pretend things were normal, thinking that would be the most comfortable for him, and I just quietly cleaned it up.
I’d give a lot to be able to go back to that moment, walk over and give him a hug, and tell him it was all right.
Thirty-five years later, I still regret that I didn’t give him that comfort.
And yes, I’d come back to now. The only difference I would have made is the erasure of a very private, unspoken sadness I’ve carried all this time.