No Regrets.

Uncle M. ~ Dad ~ Uncle L.

My mother called me before I came out to Nebraska to let me know that my dear Uncle L was in the hospital. I called the hospital and after being hung up on five times, I finally got to speak to him. He sounded very weak, but was happy to hear from me.  My Uncle passed away this past week. My last words to my Uncle and his to me were "I love you".

After my father's death I made a promise to myself that I would always tell everyone in my life how much they mean to me and I end the conversation or departure with I love you. Christmas 2001 I was married to the ex and I had asked him if I could call my father on Christmas day. The call would be international. At that time we did not have Skype and calls internationally were very expensive. My ex responded no and that I could wait until New Years Day. New Years Eve 2001 my father was kidnapped and murdered. I never got to tell him that I loved him. Whenever I think back on that day the regret sometimes overwhelms me and the guilt in not standing my ground is yet again a sucker punch to the gut. Yes I know that my father knew I loved him, but I didn't get to say it one last time. My cousins all got to say goodbye to my Uncle and they were with him when he passed. We didn't get the opportunity.

No one likes to think about death and that there is always tomorrow, but what if there wasn't and those closest to you were no longer here?  Did they know how much they meant to you?

Would you have any regrets?

The Large Yellow Home.

At the bottom of our hill, between the tall Oregon pines and the scrub oak, sits a large yellow home.  In the summer the squirrels scamper amidst the flowers in the garden and dogs on leashes strain anxiously trying to join in the fun.  The large verandah overlooks a farm where the sheep lazily graze and the sounds of the tractor in the distance is a low, soft hum.

Cars drive up and down the hill, past the large yellow home, the farm and the pine trees.  The drivers oblivious to their surroundings eager to get to their destination. College students on bicycles with their headphones placed firmly in their ears cycling to the beat.

As the sun begins it's journey to foreign destinations the lights in the large yellow home turn on.  There are no curtains or blinds to obstruct the view.  As I drive up the hill I notice an older man sitting in his chair, gazing out his window.  My eyes glance up as I drive by and then focus back on the road and my mission.

There is a sign in front of the large yellow home.  It informs all who pass that this is an assisted living facility.  As the seasons begin to change and the squirrels sleep, the one thing that remains constant is the man, sitting in his chair, gazing out his window.

I wonder what his story is?  What does he see?  Does he have a family?  Did he abandon those who loved him in his earlier years now only to sit alone gazing out his window? Does he remember the days when he was connected to the rest of the world? Does he have regrets? Does he see the cars zooming up and down the hill?  Does he dream of days and moments lost? Does he want to close his eyes and see no more?

Does he see me, looking at him.