Category: My Story

Regrets After a Friend’s Death

A friend of mine died recently, and the praise heaped on her after her death was inspiring. Friends posted on Facebook and her memorial page their memories of her: smart, funny, loving and brave, with a smile that would light up the room; someone who listened and uplifted others; a woman who made the world a better place.

I doubt Karen knew how much she meant to people. That’s the problem with obituaries and funerals: they come too late for the person who died. Her memorial service was beautiful, with people from all parts of her life praising her—siblings who remembered her as the loving, older sister; co-workers who regarded Karen as a mentor and role model; friends who fondly recalled trips, game nights and campfires together. Was Karen listening from the other side, amazed and appreciative at what she was hearing?

Karen had been suffering from an incurable disease for a long time, yet she faced her challenges with a smile, never lost her curiosity about life or gave in to self-pity. Even while suffering herself, she made a point of comforting others. She inspired me with her courage to never give up, to keep enjoying life as much as she could. In fact, a day or so before she died, she was trying to install a new printer so she could write friends and let them know how she felt about them.

I wish I had followed her lead. Realizing she only had a few months or even a few weeks left, I was determined to let her know how much I cherished our time together. I hoped to see her one last time, but, if her illness prevented that, I wanted to write it down in a letter. Unfortunately, I waited too long, and she died before I got a chance.

We all have regrets after someone who is beloved to us dies. A friend of mine told me he suffers from not telling his college professor how much his mentoring meant to him. His professor helped him get a scholarship, encouraged him in his studies and very likely changed the course of his life for the better. Although I helped my friend search the Internet to see if his professor was still alive, we never found him, and he’s most likely passed on. 

I wish I had been more patient and understanding with my mother in the last years of her life when she was suffering from dementia. Looking back, I can see that her outbursts came out of frustration at losing her memory. All I can do now is be more understanding with friends and acquaintances who are suffering from memory loss.

Regrets are useless, I’ve been told, so instead I’ve made a promise to myself to let people in my life know what they mean to me—before it’s too late. 

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Voting Old

In the analyses of the recent election, many commentators noted that young voters helped Democrats win, especially in close races. It shouldn’t be surprising because research has shown that younger adults tend to be more liberal and vote Democratic while older folks are more conservative and vote Republican.

Yet it’s hard to grasp because I had assumed that my generation of baby boomers would carry our liberal politics into old age. We were the generation that opposed the Vietnam War, supported civil and women’s rights and started the first Earth Day celebrations.

In my (adopted) hometown, I remember in my 20s seeing that tidal wave of change. A city council that consisted of white men was replaced with two women, an environmentalist, a black man and a gay man. At the time it seemed revolutionary. Yet somehow those young voters who threw the old white guys out are now getting more conservative. How does this happen?

Research shows that as we age, we process information slower. I was shocked to read that our mental capabilities peak in our 20s and head downhill since then. However, even though we might not be as smart as our younger selves or the younger generation, I was glad to read that we compensate with wisdom accumulated over decades.

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Going Backwards

Does it feel like our history is unspooling before our eyes? Like most in my generation, I grew up before a woman’s right to an abortion was ensured. Friends told me about getting back-street abortions, about the shame and fear they felt. I heard third-hand stories about women using clothes hangers to get rid of unwanted pregnancies. So when Roe V. Wade was decided in 1973, it seemed like the horror stories would end, that the world had finally come to its senses. Instead, the recent Supreme Court decision and the ensuing laws by some states to restrict women’s freedom to make their own decisions set women’s rights back to where we started.

The environmental news is equally depressing. In 1969, I remember the Cuyahoga River in Ohio catching on fire because it was so polluted. In those early days of the environmental movement, we were starting to hear stories about whales becoming extinct because of over-fishing. Eagles were dying because of the overuse of the pesticide DDT.  Those of us who identified ourselves with a new word, “environmentalist,” were overjoyed when President Richard Nixon, not a progressive in anyone’s book, started the Environmental Protection Agency in 1970. We thought we were on an upward course to save the Earth, especially when the astronauts took a photo from the moon that showed a dazzling blue planet. After seeing this, how could anyone not want to protect what looked like paradise?

Yet, since then, we’ve suffered worsening environmental damage, especially from climate change, in many cases reversing any gains we made 40 or 50 years ago. Although there have been victories—the outlawing of DDT, certain species of whales returning and rivers less polluted—you only have to look at the dried-up lakes of the West during this unprecedented drought to get that sinking feeling that we are losing the race to save the planet.  

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