there’s not much you can say to someone weighed down by regret — especially the big kind — but you can listen and empathize. that extra piece of chocolate cake, a missed opportunity to say something brilliant in a meeting, those are things that can be laughed off, the superficial sting fading over time. it’s the other stuff — the last words never spoken, not trying hard enough with a true love, being too scared to do that thing that you always wanted to do — that can, well, take you down.
i am sure — i hope — that deep down, my neighbour knows that there was nothing she could have done to change the outcome. that, while she disagreed with how her sister decided to treat her disease, she had given her small gifts of support and love, like buying and serving the tea she wanted despite her opinions. perhaps she would know this someday, and forgive herself, but not now, because her grief is just too thick and intoxicating for her to see it just yet. she said that sometimes all she can think about is regret.
and the thing is, it’s a feeling that’s almost impossible to avoid. we come face-to-face with potential regret every day: every time we have to make a choice — latte or tea? variable or fixed? cardigan-wearing jack or the tattooed guy on the motorcycle? — there’s always the risk that in the end, we will feel the soul-sucking emptiness of a missed opportunity, either big or small.