Regrets

Did she have any regrets in her life?

It was a tough question for Leta.

Her great-granddaughter was working on a project for school and wanted to know. The girl and her classmates read a book, and as part of a multidisciplinary project were instructed to write a paper on regret.

“Regret is a big word,” she told the eleven-year-old. “I might have to think about it a little. I’m an old woman, and while I’ve done some things in my life that I’m not proud of, I’m not sure if I would consider them regrets.”

“If you did regret something,” the girl persisted, pencil poised, “what would it be?”

Leta’s immediate thought was that this was a rather personal question to ask someone. In her day, people didn’t talk about such things. Her mother never talked about why her father left them, and no one said anything when he returned several years later or when he left again. She herself never asked. It just wasn’t proper.

Now, here she was at 85-years-old, sitting at the kitchen table at her son and daughter-in-law’s after celebrating the 15^th birthday of her great-grandson, being asked with the simple sincerity of a child a question that was more probing than a divorce attorney’s.

Yes, you have regrets, her inner voice told her. You regret not spending more time with your daughter Vivian before she died so unexpectedly. You regret that you let Adrian’s children sell your house out from under you after he died. You regret not taking a firmer hand with your grandson who left his wife for the town trollop. You regret that you didn’t have enough money to last you your entire life. You regret living so long, and yet still don’t want to die. You regret living so long after Albert was taken so abruptly from you.

But a more powerful voice told her that she had many reasons not to be regretful: Beloved grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Intimate relationships with her siblings and their children. Lots of laughter. That if she ever was in a situation that was unpleasant or unsafe or unsuitable for her, she left it. That she made her own way.

“Ha! Ha!” she laughed loudly, “You want to know if I have any regrets? Oh, honey, not a one.”

“Really, Grandma?” she persisted. “You don’t have any?”

The girl furrowed her brow and looked at her skeptically.

“Darling, Grandma has only one regret from her long life,” she finally said.

“What is it?” the girl asked, pencil poised.

“Grandma regrets that she didn’t hug her children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren enough.”

The girl looked up at her with great disappointment.

“That’s it?”

Leta turned her chair and opened her arms. “Come here and give us a hug,” she said.