My mom died when I was 19 years old, after a long and painful battle with breast cancer. It was, and still remains, the most painful experience of my life to date. In the 12 years since her death I have never once regretted not telling her I loved her, but I have regretted not telling her why I loved her. In fact, as a teenager I spent a lot of time telling her why I hated her and I am not sure that I ever repaired those wounds I inflicted by telling her why I loved her. I think it is a common regret when we lose someone. It is not that the person didn't know we loved them, obviously my mom knew I loved her, but it is the "why" the "love because" that went unsaid that leads to regret. It would stand to reason that because of this experience I would be better at telling the important people in my life why I love them and yet I am chronically complacent about it.
Perhaps we don't tell the people we love why because we have this belief of immortality, that those we love will never leave us, and that we will never leave them. I think things are left unsaid because we always assume there will be time to say them, but the painful truth remains that time is never a guarantee, not our time and not their time.
Now, following my mom's death my father remarried a wonderful woman named Lorrie, who had recently lost her husband to lymphoma. My dad moved into her house where her and her children lived and she turned it into our home too. She filled the halls with our childhood pictures, with pictures of my mom. She did everything she knew to try to make us a part of the family. Now of course, my brother, my sister, and I gripe over all of our childhood memories that were yard-saled and thrown away during the merging of the households, but as a mom myself now I know that not everything can be saved. Lorrie organized boxes of our childhood photos and put them into photo albums, the photos weren't thrown away. She was there at my first wedding and did her best to support me through a painful divorce. She pinned my nursing school pin on at my college graduation, and I don't think I have ever known anyone as excited to become a grandma. The stockings that hang for Case and Liv at Christmas time were made by her with love. She also makes my dad happy, she kept him from being alone, and kept me from having to worry about him. She gave me a gold cross before I deployed to Iraq that her mom had given her. My mom hasn't been here for my adult years because she couldn't be and Lorrie has been here but doesn't have to be.
We don't always agree on everything, don't get me wrong (especially when it comes to my step-brothers) but I can say 100% that she has done the very best she knows how to. Do you think she knows that I feel this way? Maybe, but if she does, it isn't because she heard it from me.
I think I fall into the trap of waiting on others to take action and then blaming them when they don't make the effort. I have used every excuse when it comes to making an effort, "well they never call" or "they don't visit enough" or "they don't write or send gifts" always followed by "so why should I?" It's important to remember that it has nothing to do with our effort verses someone else's effort, especially when it comes to family. Our family may not always be who we want them to be, but we can always be who we want to be. We only have the choice in our actions not those of others.
Reminding myself of this, I chose to write Lorrie a letter. As I sat and wrote my words to her I realized how much I cared about her and how little effort I have made for her lately, especially since having kids of my own. It made me realize how many people in my life I stopped making an effort for, or maybe never started making much effort for. Is there someone in your life who would benefit from your effort?
I regret not telling my mom all the reasons why I loved her, my "because," who would be your regret?
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