As I held his hand, waiting for it to grow cold, I recalled my mom’s words:

“The doctors have given him six weeks. And now … we wait”

I remember not feeling ready for him to die.

He was my dad. My superhero. He’d never been sick a day in his life.

For him to battle cancer for two years and be defeated by it … I wasn’t ready.

But more than not being ready to let him go, I was full of regrets.

My dad and I had always had such a difficult relationship.

As a teenager, I was the black sheep, the rebel, and the daughter he wished was just … different.

He didn’t approve of how I dressed, what I said or the things I wished for in life.

He wanted me to aspire to get married and have children. I wanted an education, a career and success that included a marriage, but wasn’t dependent on it.

We spent days – sometimes weeks – not talking because both of us were too stubborn to admit we were wrong or hurt.

And despite my headstrong defiance, when it came down to it – I regretted how I’d behaved – not what I had done, but what I hadn’t done.

I regretted not questioning him more. Why did he want different things for me? What was his rational and how could understanding this benefit me?

I regretted not showing compassion. He’d been born in Pakistan and immigrated to England when he was a teenager. How had this impacted his wishes for me? What was his relationship like with his own parents? How was this significant for me?

And I regretted realizing all this when it was too late.

I was told by friends that I shouldn’t regret the things I hadn’t done. Regrets bring nothing but heartache. They don’t serve a purpose.

I argue that they do.

We’re not born perfect, with the ability to accurately assess every situation we’re in and live it through without regretting our actions.

This means that, at some point, we won’t be proud of what we’ve done, or pleased with procrastination, or dumfounded by the words we didn’t say.

Regret is a sign that we want to do better. @RazwanaWahid (Click to Tweet!)

Assessing a past situation with today’s wisdom means you can accept what you did, and decide what you’d do differently the second time around.

Here’s what I learned from the regrets with my dad:

In the moment, say something

Both the beauty and cruelty of life is that you don’t know when anyone’s last moment with you will be.

Don’t wait for a good time to say what you want to say.

Say it in the moment.

If, when we disagreed, I’d told my dad how I was feeling, perhaps our relationship would have been different. If, rather than judging him, I’d tried to understand him, perhaps he’d have responded differently to me.

I’ve learned this and applied it to the relationship I have with my mom. We talk more openly as a result, and we seem to be more courageous with what we ask of each other. It isn’t perfect, but it is progress.

Think: If I don’t do this now, will I regret it tomorrow?

I regretted not telling my dad I loved him. I regretted not hugging him more. I regretted not opening up to him.

And if I could turn the clock back, I’d do all of those things in abundance.

Which is why when I like a guy, I tell him. If I miss someone, I send them a message saying so. If I’m feeling hurt, I voice it.

And if you find, no matter how much you’re learning, you’re not applying it …

Forgive yourself.

I was nineteen when my dad died. Barely an adult, and too emotionally scarred to know better.

And despite everything my relationship with him taught me, I still do things (or not do things) that I regret later.

Sometimes I avoid confrontation with my mom because it’s exhausting. Or I don’t tell someone how I feel for fear of backlash. Or I don’t go to a party because I’m feeling insecure.

Expecting perfection after regret is unrealistic.

So forgive yourself. For the regrets. For the inaction. For the words not spoken.

Forgive yourself.

Revisit your regrets

A couple of years after I lost my dad, I was in the changing room of the gym when I got talking to a woman I’d never seen there before. She asked me how I was, and I decided to be completely honest with her.

I told her I was feeling weighed down with regret. I’d had a tumultuous relationship with my dad and I hadn’t made the time to rectify it before he died. There were so many things I wanted to say, to apologize for, and to understand about him. There was so much I should have said but hadn’t.

She told me that I could still do that.

The mind is a powerful thing, influenced by fabrications, as well as real events. She told me to find someone I trusted, and talk to them like they were my dad. Be brutally honest. Say everything.

It took me another year of thinking about it before finally having that conversation.

It was the most liberating thing I have ever done. It made me see both him and myself differently. I stopped judging my behavior and started accepting it.

And I was thankful for being with him when he was dying. Despite our respective frustrations, he would have been comforted with having family around him. I knew that to be true.

That’s the thing with regrets – they give perspective like nothing else.

Over to you: What regrets have you experienced, and what have you learned from them?


Razwana Wahid is the bold, mouthy and boundary pushing founder of reGENERATION, where she explores the East/West identity conflict and gets gutsy about reconciling those two worlds. Caution: Strong opinions imminent. You can also find her on Twitter.

 

 

Image courtesy of Ryan McGuire.