Regret

“I’m bone tired,” the old man said.
“Got this aching in my head.”
All my friends are gone and dead.
And I ain’t too proud of the life I’ve led.”

“Do you hear what I’m saying, Son,” he cried.
“Can’t say you’re sorry after they’ve died.
And there ain’t nothing dignified.
‘Bout being filled with hatred,” the old man sighed.

“All the years that have come and gone
And I think about the things I’ve done.
Wasn’t nothin’ but a son-of-a-gun.
Didn’t know regret would weigh a ton.

There ain’t nothin’ for which I’m proud
I lived too fast and talked too loud.
When I meet my maker, I shall be cowed
With eyes averted and head low bowed.

This day might be the last I see,
So I warn you now, don’t follow me
Down a path of spite and misery.
It’s the only one, I’ve known to be.”

I sensed the old man had the urge.
To rid himself of guilt…to purge.
And with a mighty rush, the confession surged,
As he sang a sad, despondent dirge.

“Well, perhaps,” I said, “you ain’t lived right.
But here with me, this very night.
Through the eyes of your hindsight,
You’ve helped this man to see the light.

Tears formed in the old man’s eyes.
Though touched, he still refused to cry.
“Thank you,” he said, before bidding goodbye
And I knew that he was soon to die.

But the reaper did not take him sound.
‘Cause what goes around, comes around.
In his bed, the man was found
Shot one time, while his hands were bound;

So learn this lesson the old man told:
Don’t wait until you’re far too old.
‘Cause the grave is lonely and the tomb is cold,
And it’s much too late when your hands, they fold

To take back all the things you’ve said,
When you’re lying in your coffin dead,
Or there’s an aching in your head,
Where someone’s pumped it full of lead.

Remember: what you give, you’ll get,
So choose carefully those things you let
Fill your heart with spite and fret,
Or else you too, will know regret.

Essay:

I know of a man similar to the character in Regret. Not a man, though…more of a monster, actually. I’ll call him “Jim” for the sake of this essay. With the exception of Jim’s service in Vietnam, I don’t know that he has made any real contribution to society or to the lives he has touched throughout his life. In fact, devastation is the only legacy he seems to leave behind wherever he goes.

I believe he’s been married three times now, and he’s been horribly abusive to each of his wives. He has fathered at least four of his own children and caused nothing but irreparable damage to all of them. This man is guilty of murder, spousal and child abuse, torture, cheating, lying, adultery, rape, sodomy and pedophilia. Well into his sixties now, he’s a lot less spunky then he used to be, but the years have not lent him any remorse for his crimes. He approaches his death with all the hatred and bitterness that should be afforded to his victims.

I know many of his victims, and I know how they have longed to see him pay for his sins only to watch him continue on, seemingly undeterred and undisturbed by his own appalling actions. Will he ever have to answer for his transgressions? When will justice find him? I don’t know if there is a final judge some where, but for the sake of his soul, and for the sake of his victims’ recompense, I sure I hope that there is. I can not hide my own longing for a day of resurrection, when this man will be revived and revisited by each and every merciless act.

I believe in this phenomenon called “karma”. I don’t know how it works, but it does. Sooner or later, I have seen it go knocking on each man’s door. None of us are exempt. It will find us. I know a lot of men and women who adamantly profess faith in a higher power, yet live as if there is not. I, however, must confess that I just don’t know if such a higher power exists, but I try to live my life as though there is.

I have my own share of regret, perhaps more than most. If any reader has found a way to escape regret, I’d like to meet him. I have not been so fortuitous. I have made many a wrong turn. Recalling my sins fills my heart with shame at times, but I have tried my best to not repeat them, and to rectify them the best that I could. A sincere apology is a soothing balm to a wounded soul. Knowing that, I have offered up many of my own to those that I have offended. I am sure that I have missed a few, and I hope that as the years have passed, my accusers have found forgiveness and understanding for me, despite a lack of closure.

I know how it feels to long for validation and for just one moment with the one who has hurt me only to be met with silence, excuses, or even more insult. As I write this, I am watching an old interview with Jeffery Dahmer conducted by Stone Phillips. While I find Jeffery’s crimes monstrous, I must admit that I appreciate his candidness and the remorse he showed for his crimes. I am proud of him for having had taken the road less traveled by admitting his guilt, and holding only himself accountable for his deeds. He did not ask for pity in any way. He did not place blame on anyone else. At least, for that much, I tend to think that the families of his victims are grateful, though despite his admission of guilt, Jeffery, like the character introduced in Regret, met a violent end. That’s karma.

I know one of “Jim’s” victims quite intimately, and he has expressed to me the overwhelming trauma this man’s actions have caused him. He has shared with me the thoughts of revenge and vindictive acts that he has fantasized over inflicting on his perpetrator. Yet, something in him stills his hand when he is in the presence of this man- something that “Jim” does not possess. Perhaps, that alone is the only vindication he has-the fact that despite the horror inflicted upon him, he has refused to bend to the level of inhumanity that his violator has.

There are some wrongs that we may never see righted in this life; I have resigned myself to the fact that there may never be an answer to my “why’s”, and I may never find a resolution to my pain, at least not in this life. Not everyone’s appointment with karma is met on this side, but what we do in this life really does matter, and each push and shove, each bitter remark, sends a ripple through the soul of humanity. Every action or lack-there-of really does make a difference.

I hope that the nearer I approach my own demise, the kinder and the wiser I become. I hope that the longer I live, the more my sins and failures will fade into the distant past and ebb in the memories of those that I have injured. I hope that I will have more to be proud of than to regret. Most of all, I hope that God, should I ever meet her, will approach me with a gleam in her eye and that after a warm embrace, I shall hear: “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”