I regret ...

How many times do I think or say that?

Not as many as I used to. It’s a phrase that I am abolishing from my life. But like the slave trade the passing of the act does not mean that all evils cease immediately. This too is taking its time.

However, I am now really living my life the way I want to (most of the time) so I seriously have little or no need to express regret.  

“A life lived does not need regrets.” 

The Hon. Sir Willard White

Biography of Willard White

Third party sadness

We all have our own pain. And sometimes we know we have too much of it. But there is a whole different type of pain that also causes deep grief. This is third party pain.

I have realised that you really hurt when people you care about are hurt or hurting. As much as you want to you cannot take their pain away. What I have found is that you can let them know that you care, deeply.

I have sent hugs and prayers to people who I cannot be with in person right now. They have always been eternally dear to me and, at this moment, they are too closely acquainted with that heart destroying pain.

Their first degree sadness is raw and debilitating.

My meagre offering to them right now is somewhere to rest and express that pain because I really care about what they feel.

Moments like these ...

There are rare occasions when I am not at my best and the smallest thing can make me drop the veil of sadness over my face.

It may be a careless word or a deliberate action directed at me, no matter what the motive or the person when it reaches me I am hurt. And my initial reaction is to protect myself from further harm. My way of doing this is to shut down.

When I shut down I usually stop communication – in any way at all. Silence.

This is an unusual state for me but it does occur.

A brief outline of the situation may give you an idea of how I felt and what I did.

Clothes have never been a major interest to me – this was especially true when I was several sizes larger than I am now. This was mainly because my large build seemed to be a constant source of mirth to some people. They never saw how much pain it caused me. I hated shopping for clothes and always avoided it until the last possible moment. However, I thought it was more or less all behind me but I was mistaken.

The wounds of those words were temporarily opened by some fresh comment (disguised as a joke) about just how huge I was then (not my choice of words). I was surprised by the fact that it affected me instantly. I closed down.

This was not a practical reaction for several reasons, but pain does not always wait until you are in a comfortable environment to settle into your bones.

I felt my face drop the laughter like a mountain avalanche.

That’s when the change occurred. I wanted to, in the true Greta Garbo sense, ‘be let alone’. So I excused myself and tried to achieve the space to repair my pain.




This is when my son spotted a change in me and gave me a fierce hug. As much as I love him and his hugs I really wanted to be apart from everybody right then. But he looked into my face and said, “You’ve got to have some happy moments before you go.” And he wouldn’t let me go until I really smiled. By then I didn’t need to be alone any more.

Thankfully my life is full of happy moments like these.

Unbidden tears

In the grand scheme of things I have so many things to feel happy about – and I do, however, right now, in this moment I feel incredibly sad.

It’s the little things that trigger it.

If I were to recount them you may shake your head in disbelief or even laugh at my attention to seemingly futile things. But, in this minute, they are not minor.

I’ll share two of my recent triggers to sadness. I was sharing a neighbour’s birthday celebrations and she has been the most wonderful and kind woman to my son and I over the years, then I found myself in floods of tears (much as I am while I am writing this). Mrs H is now 83 years old. She reminds me of the quiet but strong matriarch of an Italian dynasty. She lives alone across the street from me, well that is the theory – her children, grandchildren and hordes of relatives are constantly visiting, staying over and looking after her.

Well, this woman, with a multitude of her own family has taken a shine to my son, and every birthday (they share the same week) there is an exchange of gifts. Also, when Mrs H goes on her family holidays around the world she always brings a special present back for Morgan. She is so kind and lovely.

I have thanked her endlessly for her thoughtfulness and generosity. As the head of such a large, also generous, family I realised she has everything she could possibly need – she has repeatedly told me this as well. So I decided to write her a letter instead of just signing the usual birthday card with a few platitudes.

This is when I first started crying uncontrollably.

I wasn’t writing anything sad, on the contrary I was remembering her kindness over the past decade and more. I managed to prevent the tears splashing on the paper and smudging the ink but I still had red eyes when I went to deliver it with her box of chocolates (her one indulgence).

Writing that letter took me way beyond this street and Mrs H’s kindness. That’s why I cried.

Then later on in the same day there was a minor accident. There was no bloodshed or bones broken. What happened was a key ring got trapped in the door and smashed my heather fob. It’s true, nobody died. I’ve just had it as a treasured gift for these past four years and I was used to it, it meant a lot to me. It’s just Scottish heather and there’s plenty more where it came from but it still made me a little sad.



So there you have it. Writing letters and missing Scottish mementos can make me cry. Who’d have thought?!

Same but different

Isn’t it strange that the same thing can cause different reactions in you at different times?

Take for example families.

A few weeks ago I heard a comment from a family member that came as a complete surprise to me. It was totally unexpected and mind-blowing at the same time.

It was the most inclusive and positive comment I had heard from that quarter in over two decades. That time scale alone shows you how much it meant to me.

Then ... there was this other communication with my family that was such a strain that I almost wept from the sad intensity of it all.

On one hand families can unexpectedly warm your heart and then, on the other hand, the tension loaded words from another avenue in the same area can shatter your dreams into a million pieces.

This can happen in birth families, work families or church families. It’s the same thing, but different.

Feeling sorry for myself

Yep! That’s me. For the last week something has been niggling at me and it keeps coming up when I least expect it.

I was in a supermarket last week and I picked up a packet off the shelf and then suddenly cried out in pain as the cardboard tore through my skin like a razor and I just felt a searing pain. I dropped the package on the floor and held my hand up. Strangely I couldn’t see the cut for a moment, but I knew it was there. The pain didn’t lie.

After what seemed like an age but was probable about 10 seconds my blood starting pouring from the cut. I didn’t cry or fall to the floor writhing in agony – as was suggested as an appropriate reaction by my son – however I did wince a lot and shake my finger to relieve the symptoms. What I had gained was a deep paper cut on my knuckle. It really, really hurt and since then I’ve been feeling really sorry for myself.

The reason for this prolonged bout of suffering? Well, I obtained a plaster from the customer service section of the store as I didn’t want to continue dripping blood all over the floor and when I got home I cleansed it and covered it properly. However, all week it has failed to heal properly. You see, what I thought was a simple, albeit deep, paper cut has refused to heal as expected. When it was not fully healed I carelessly hurt it again in the same place and each time it seemed like the wound was deeper and more painful on the repeat injuries. Every couple of days it would bleed again and I’d have to start the healing process from scratch.

I started to get frustrated. I tried to think of a better way to save myself from the repetition of pain.

This made me think that this cut has been just like life.

It’s still not healed completely but it is getting there. I just have to treat it with more loving care. I am protecting the area of pain.

Poor me!

Sat by the window

The man sat quietly by the window.

As he looked as far as he could see, he couldn’t see what he was looking for.

He sighed.

The man remembered when he was far away from this room. He had walked in the sunshine. He had not walked alone.

When he returned to the clouded land he never wanted to stay. He had wanted to be in the sunshine but he starved the seeds of belief until they withered away.

When there were a matching set of footprints next to his he was told that the impossible had already taken place. He saw that it had. When he was there he had believed with all his heart. He had the strength and resources of a panther right then. Impossibilities had been knocked down like skittles in a bowling alley. There was unfettered happiness.

Belief had multiplied before his eyes. Possibilities beckoned him forwards. They were excited.

Then his horizon had to change.

With whispered promises they parted ... just for a while.

The journey was the hardest part because the sun set as he moved west. In that first darkness he wondered, “What if?”

Behind him his belief lay scattered like Hansel’s crumbs. While he adjusted to the clouds he saw every day the path back to the sunshine became so overgrown with weeds of doubt that when the man did try to go back he could no longer find his way.

Nothing in the cloudy land matched his footsteps, so he resigned himself to sit by the window and look out with a constant wish.

He grew old as he looked.

He wiped the tear away from his cheek and said aloud to himself, “Who knew that loneliness would taste as sharp and bitter as a lemon? Who knew?” He slowly shook his partially bowed head and, from the corner of his eye, he saw the deep bleakness in his heart was caught on the face reflected in the mirror.

Sadly he thought “If only I had believed enough ...”

Secrets

When someone decides to share their secret it means that they need someone else to know what they have been keeping to themselves for a time. Being chosen can be an honour or it can be a burden. If you think you cannot bear the weight of a secret then tell the person, if you can. It will be better for them to know and feel that initial shallow disappointment than for you to take the secret and spread it far and wide and thereby deepen their sorrow.

When a secret is revealed the impact can go on for ages like an avalanche. If you’ve been entrusted with a secret – keep it.