The new year felt distinctly poignant this year. I was exhausted by continuous health monitoring and mandated behaviors. Travel and discretionary spending had been bludgeoned into submission for almost two years. Exasperation crept in surreptitiously, sitting silently and persistently, popping into my consciousness from time to time. I felt vaguely like I was paying the price for a crime I didn’t commit.
But I was done with all of that. I labeled 2022, My Year of Living Intentionally, and I threw myself into planning trips, projects, and resolutions with the vigor of a free-spirited zealot released from captivity. My “must do this year” list had eleven items, which I immediately began discussing, researching, outlining and scheduling.
Number five on the list was visiting my Aunt Beverly, my mother’s only sister, and the sole surviving member of my maternal grandparents’ five offspring. I had planned to visit her in 2020, as I had not seen her in many years, but the pandemic intervened. Although our communications were limited to annual holiday cards and letters, she was one of my role-model heroes. Along with my uncle, she raised a family of four, valued education and life-long learning, and lived a life of creativity and engagement. She was in her mid-90’s and was witty, vigorous and vital.
I received her Christmas card in late December, and, as always, her hand-written note reminded me how much she enjoyed my annual family newsletter. I mailed out my New Year’s photograph and newsletter to her several weeks later.
A get-together with her this year seemed destined. I recently found my cousin on Facebook, and I asked her to give my aunt a big hug. I perused my calendar, planning around a family wedding and other conflicts. I wanted to travel during wintertime because my aunt lived in sunny Florida, but I did not want to schedule the trip when winter snowstorms could interfere.
Mere weeks after connecting with my cousin, I received a direct message from her that my aunt passed away on January 17th, after a sudden cerebrovascular event.
I was devastated. My chance to see and talk to my Aunt Bev one more time disappeared in a heartbeat. My sole remaining connection to my mother’s immediate family is gone. Though it does no good to re-trace the what-ifs in life, I cannot help but review the past with remorse. I wish I had made a greater effort to visit her.
I believe that karmic gods routinely dispense luck and success to balance out misfortune and disappointment. (Well, it is either that or the law of averages.) And I know, with certainty, that happiness is just around the corner whenever I am heartbroken. A disordered world regularly rights itself, as though Atlas is readjusting the weight of the globe on his broad shoulders.
But regret is a bitter pill, the taste of which lingers long after it dissolves. Unlike disappointment or failure, there is no offsetting emotion or occurrence that can spontaneously spring up, supplanting it. Remorse is never balanced out by happenstance. The only solace is to learn from regret and fashion your life in a way to minimize it in the future.
And, so, I vow. I will fly to Florida for my aunt’s life celebration. I will search through boxes of old photographs to exchange with Beverly’s family. I will re-connect with my cousins and share stories, and we will joke about how two strong women, born and raised as Iowa farmgirls, are rolling up their shirtsleeves and getting things done - together - in the hereafter.