I know where the thought came from at the time I was asked. It had been the most recent topic of discussion among a group of incredible individuals who initially began their relationship due to having experienced loss, and then finding themselves trying to manage the grief that comes as a result. 

I don't like to think of myself as a single track individual, but as I grow older I do find myself obsessing with things related to end of life. There are many layers to thoughts of death; but I have to admit, I am obsessed with almost all of them. 

And one of them is grief.

So this group of individuals who are part of a unique club of those have been, or will soon be, left behind through the loss of somone or something they love were asking one another how to process, deal with, identify and hold space for regret. What can be done with it? 

I have been known to say, that when there is an expected loss of a beloved; expected and belovedbeing the key words, whether that be a human, a pet, a relationship, a home, or a career, pain is inevitable but regret is avoidable. Pain is inevitable because the person or thing is beloved; actively being loved. Period. End of story. If you love, you will know pain. 

And I want to believe that in those instances, when the loss is expected, regret is avoidable. I want that to be true. I'm just not sure it is. It can be a goal. It can be an idea. But the reality is, few of us actually live that clearly with those we love; that acutely aware, at all times, how fragile and momentary our lives are. And it's those we love who, when they die, can leave us feeling regret. If you are leaving a job or leaving a home, there are rituals and ceremonies that can help you leave feeling complete. But when we lose a beloved human, it's rare that regret doesn't come into play at some point. Even if we follow and engage in all the rituals and ceremonies we have around death, regret can still follow us and when it does it can haunt us. 

So what do we do with it? How do we move it through, get it gone, shake it off? 

Or how do we grow from it, learn from it and become a better person as a result of it?

Well, I'm not an expert on how to do all of that. I carry my own share of things I wish I'd done differently. Especially if it caused pain, disappointment or harm to someone. Anyone. But if it caused those things to someone I deeply cared about or someone I loved, those are regrets that are much harder to hold in a place of kindness and love.

I was thinking about the people I have been with at their end of life who have said to me, “I have no regrets. I've had a good life” and how I always think to myself they've got be kidding. How can anyone live a whole life and not have regrets? Not have ever done something they wish they hadn't, or not done something they wish they had. It almost seems impossible, because to me, it seems as though it is a part of our fabric as humans; part of the learning-to-love-better reason we are here. And if we have truly lived a good life, is it possible that regrets have been a major part of that? 

Our regrets, just like our losses, need our compassion. Our gentle understanding. Our patience. And, our acceptance. Regrets are not something we can lose, solve, shake off or otherwise, get gone. Because they, too, become part of our fabric of being. Just like our losses. And just like grief lies waiting for us to look at it before it can teach us all the amazing and beautiful things it has to offer, so do our regrets.

In many ways, regrets parallel loss. Lost opportunities. Lost dreams. And sometimes, regrets are something that are so shrouded in shame and guilt, that we hide them away; we stuff them deep into the corners of our soul so no one will ever see them. 

When this happens, when, as said so well by Frances Weller in his book The Wild Edge of Sorrow, “when any portion of who we are is denied, we live in a condition of loss. And any loss means grief, but we cannot properly grieve for something we feel is outside the circle of worth.” (end quote)

Avoiding regret is one thought I kept coming back to when I was putting thoughts down for this mornings offering. If or when you are trying to decide which way to go, which road to take, what choice to make, what words to allow out of your mouth,asking yourself if I go this way, will I regret not choosing the other thing? Or, if I say this will I likely regret it later? Or, if I don't say something, will it come back to haunt me? 

Sometimes, the truthful answer to questions like these is, we don't know. But there are times, when if we are thoughtful and honest with ourselves, we do know. We do know that we will regret not doing or doing the thing we are considering. 

Learning to trust ourselves to know; learning to listen to the tiny voice that speaks inside of us; learning to trust our intuition; are all lessons borne from regret. We learn, sometimes, how to do something by doing it wrong the first time. Or the first 100 times. 

We slowly, along the course of our lives, can come to trust what our gut says. Children who are shamed or punished for not getting something right the first time; children who are shamed, punished or not believed when they speak their truth, will grow up to be adults who question their intuition. How often, even now, as adults, are we told not to feel what we are feeling? Or told we are wrong to be feeling something we are feeling? Or we are being foolish, stupid, ridiculous or crazy?

It's a beautiful thing when we can stand in our truth, know what is in our hearts is right and take a step in a new direction as a result of it.

A beautiful beautiful thing.

About 10 years ago, or maybe more, when I was still working for Hospice, I asked the folks at our only local funeral home, Farnum Holt, to sit down with me to talk about body removal from hospice homes. I needed to share with them some recent observations from deaths I had attended; some of the stories were sweet and tender, stories of lfamilies left with strong memories of how reverently they and their loved one had been treated, and some of the stories were learning opportunities, both for myself and for the funeral home. 

Three men sat with me in the conference room of the mortuary. One of the men was Trey Holt who's family owns Farnum Holt. 

At the end of our discussion, Trey turned to me and said, “I need to ask you to tell Greg something for me. It's something that has been bothering me for so many years; something I have felt so ashamed of”.

He then went on to tell me the story of when Greg's sister Teeny was killed in an avalanche in January of '88. When her body was recovered, 4 months later in April, Greg asked Trey if Teeny's dog Pooh, who was also killed in that avalanche, could please be cremated with her and Trey had denied his request. 

Trey lowered his head, then looked me in the eye, both our faces wet with tears, and said it was something he had regretted almost since the time he had said it. And that if he could have that moment to do over again, he would have absolutely welcomed the joint cremation. At the time, he said he was too scared to say yes because he thought if anyone ever found out, they would not want their family member cremated in the same crematory as a dog. 

I could see on Trey's face how hard it was for him to ask this of me. I could see the agony he'd lived with all those years. 

And I also knew, because I know my husband, how touched Greg would be when I told him. 

It was a beautiful beautiful thing; to watch this man so many years later, visit an old memory that had stinky gooey regret all over it, and bring it out into the light with so much love and tenderness and authentic compassion, dust it off and offer it up.

I was honored to be asked to relay the apology and only wished Greg could have been there to receive it himself. Later, when I was telling him about my meeting and about what Trey had said, we both cried. It meant so much to both of these men. It cleansed something in both of them. 

There had been grief living in their hearts over something they both wished had played out differently. And in offering me the gift of being the one to tell Greg, 

I was able to see that.

On a final note, at least about this story; because it felt so personal, I knew I needed Trey's (and Greg's) blessing to tell it. I haven't seen or spoken to Trey in many years and learned, when I called the funeral home, that he was actually in California spending the Winter months with his mom. I asked the funeral home to have him call me and when he did we chatted for a few minutes and then I told him what I was calling about. 

I reminded him of the day we met to talk with staff, and how at the end he had reached across the table to ask me to please tell Greg something. I heard a catch in his breath over the phone line. He knew exactly what I was going to say and he was again shedding a tear at the memory, all these years later, again honoring the grief of a regret. It was just a rogue tear when he revisited that moment and obviously, he gave his blessing or I wouldn't be telling the story. 

He saw the power this would have to help us see that we can go back; in fact in grief work we must go back , if we are ever to move forward into a healthy full vibrant living, we must first go back and unpack the things that need to be honored, through being mourned. A lifetime of pushing down feelings requires so much energy. When we can give expression to those things we have kept at bay, when we are willing to dredge up awkward painful things, bring them to the light and give them our love and compassion, all the energy we had been using to keep them pushed down, becomes energy we can direct into living our lives better, fuller and more awake.

Honor your grief. And honor your regrets. Learn to trust in the worthiness of all of who you are. 

Amen Namaste And may it be so