Here I am, just another dying human, fighting to draw yet another breath. I have wasted so many years of my life, but now every second counts and matter. Until just a few breaths ago, I was certain I lived a good life. I was a good person; I helped many people; I loved, and I was loved. I watched my children grow and even got to see them with children of their own. Until just a few breaths ago, I thought that was enough. But a thought rose, and then a memory, and then another, and another – not of things I have done, but of all I didn’t. An entire secret lifetime hidden within those empty spaces I never got to experience, holding on to the familiar or what I so firmly wanted to believe is the “right thing to do”. A flood of emotions washed over me, each one a moment where I could have made a different choice, a crossroad to a different life, maybe less “safe” but more rewarding, or useful, or enriching. I never realized how many of these moments I pushed away and how many times Life generously offered them again. How could I have not seen it then?
Regrets are useless, I know that; I feel it deep within these last few breaths I have got left before I’m gently pushed into something new. I’m not being shown these things to regret them, but to be lovingly reminded. Still, I can’t help but utter a silent prayer.
I wish I followed my heart more.
I was thinking and overthinking so much… how to avoid pain or how to cause no pain to others, even if it meant me being the one that was really hurt; how to do “the right thing”, what others would think if I’ve just gone where my heart was pointing me.
All I needed was embedded in my own heartbeats. How many times have I silenced my heart’s flutter; how many excuses did my mind came up with, just to keep me on the safe path, a path I knew was just a shadow of what I was made for?
I wish I took more chances.
I played it safe so many times, and there was always a good reason to. Mind is a smart, merciless protector, knowing what to say, and how and when, every time. But it always wants what it perceives as safe, not true and or real or expanding or deep and transcendental. Even now, it’s telling me I made all the right choices, pointing out everything I have and how blessed my life was, and how full and rich.
And yes, it makes sense, it certainly does. But my heart knows better and what I feel I could have been and what I could have experienced carries so much more weight now. I would have had less stuff, and maybe much less comfort, but I would have loved so much more and lived so much deeper. Most of the things that safe path brought I will leave behind now, anyway – including my family and the person I thought I was. A currency of Life is something else entirely, I see that now.
I wish I loved myself more.
It is a beautiful gift, to give love and happiness and make the lives of others at least a bit better. And I did so much for others. But I didn’t know the balance of giving and receiving. I convinced myself that giving makes me happy, and it truly felt that way. But, as with anything else, there needed to be more balance, a sacred circle of energy flowing freely. If I was open to receive more, I would have made even more people happy. I see their faces now, their arms wide open and many hearts that loved me dearly. The only thing I gave them was the sound of my voice saying “I’m fine, thank you” a hundred thousand times, when I wasn’t, really. I understand now what it means to not really love anyone unless you love yourself first.
I wish I was a bit more “selfish” sometimes.
I failed to see that I’m denying myself by always choosing others first. I thought it was selfish to not give. I thought it was wise to avoid conflicts, so I just adapted and bent until I thought it all fit. I thought I don’t deserve more, and my heart was just being selfish when it refused to be silent and content. I told myself I should just be grateful for all the wonderful things and kindness and love I was gifted. I always focused on the fact that many people had even less than me, so “how dare I be anything other than grateful and quiet?” What it really meant was that I thought it was selfish to want to be absolutely, totally, unapologetically happy. That I was worth less if I wanted more. I thought my happiness meant that I’m taking some from others. I never knew that all my dreams and wishes were a gift to me as well, one that was meant to take me further than I ever dreamed was possible. I really thought that my heart’s desires, especially if they conflicted with someone else’s, were just a selfish part of me talking, and I invested a lot of energy into silencing it. But now, there is no more hiding. After all, I only have few breaths left, why waste them on denial?
I wish I kept worrying about the big stuff.
When I was young, I worried about the planet. I cried over thoughts of someone dying of hunger on the other side of the world. I got angry seeing how much we pollute and don’t care. I would go mad thinking about all the animals we abuse and kill.
Somehow, it all became just a silent whisper once I had my children. The “world” became “family”. I still got angry about what we were doing to the world, but it just became more important to feed my kids and keep them safe and happy. I did the right thing, I know it. But what kind of “happy” did I teach them? I loved them more than anything, I know they felt it. And, watching them now, sitting next to my deathbed, I know they love me. I know they are good people. But will they take chances? By always taking the “right” paths, have I taught them that Life truly only exists outside those? What have I shown them, by my example? To bend backwards for others? To not raise waves? To put the feelings of everyone else above their own?
I was always proud when they said they want to be like me and their mum, but now I really wish them to be as different as possible; to keep the kindness and love, of course, but to explore, to take on some pain willingly, if it means expanding and learning; to stand tall and firmly within their hearts and own their sensitivity, even if the entire world tells them otherwise. To constantly look inwards and be totally honest with themselves, no matter what that means at any given moment. To allow their hearts to guide them always, but use their minds to plan the journey. To be true to themselves, because I see now that I wasn’t, not nearly enough.
I don’t know what comes next. Not for me, not for my family, and definitely not for this planet. It is a kind of goodbye, but somehow I feel it is a kind of so long as well. I ran out of these wonderful, precious breaths I was given as I left the warmth of my mother’s womb and now another, different womb awaits me.
Regrets are useless and I will leave them behind as well, the luggage I don’t want or need anymore. With the very last breath, I’m sending love to everyone, to every living being out there, but this time I include myself as well. My last exhale as this imaginary “me” is the deepest, most loving hug to the Universe itself, a smile of recognition, a bliss of union that never was anything else, anyway.
.
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