by Michael Allen McCormick

Created on: December 07, 2008   Last Updated: October 19, 2010

If only I had said I was sorry. If only I had been kinder. If only I had been more truthful. If only I had repaid my debt. There are many reasons people might internalize the death of a loved one and go on with regret, making the loss even more profoundly tragic. Many times in my life, I have read an obituary of someone I knew, and learned things that made me wonder why I never took the time to learn in life what I learned from death.

I think it is rather impossible to lose a loved one without having some regret. I think back to when my uncle Norman died in 1969. I was just a small boy at the time (seven years old) but a regret I have is that I fell out of contact with my Aunt Bea and my cousins David and Paul. I know if my Uncle were still alive, he would have never let that happen. He would be disappointed that it took years to pick up our relationships.

A few years back, I visited my Uncles gravesite with my cousin David. We shared some memories there and we cried together. David never knew until that moment how the death of his dad had impacted me as well. I think of all the happy tears we missed out on crying together in remembering the laughter and love of Norman.

I think of my Uncle Steven (I called him Stevie), who came home from Viet Nam, horrified by his experience there. He came back from Nam not only in mental distress, but drug addicted. I was twelve when he died. I had this overwhelming feeling of guilt when I learned he had succumbed to heroin. I remember the times when he would play Stratego and Chess with me for hours. I remember he taught me how to hitch hike when we needed a ride to the beach. I remember him offering marijuana to me. I feared he would be angry after I told my Dad and caused a huge confrontation between them. He never ever said a harsh word to me. I know my Dad and my Grandfather wanted to get him help with his drug addiction, and they spoke of having regret about not doing it. Somehow, I feel like I had a connection with him, and somehow I feel like I could have done something to get him to seek help. But I did nothing, and he is dead.

I know my Mom has regrets about an old photo album that belonged to her mother. There are pictures in it of the Grandmother I never met. Pictures at the ocean. Mom talks about how she wishes she had been able to talk with her mother about those pictures.

My Step-father Don was a cigarette smoker. His cigarette addiction ultimately led to his terminal lung cancer. He tried to quit, but failed.

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