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What did he have to feel sorry about?

He hadn’t killed anyone or robbed them blind. So, what was it that made him feel so miserable as the day went by?

Aging wasn’t fun he came to realise. It was alright for people to say retirement would open up a new page in his life, but what if he was constantly beset with physical ailments, the sort that crept on you and told you in no uncertain terms the end was coming.

He wasn’t about to give up on everything even though his body was telling him to slow down, or at times downright refusing to cooperate.

He was thankful his family had grown up and had their own lives independent of him though at times they did rely on him to get them out of a financial crisis or two. He didn’t want to become a burden on them, the way his own father had gone, from the strong independent man of his childhood to an old dependent man.

Am I sorry for missed opportunity he asked himself?

Could be I might have done better? He had long resolved that he was who he was and there wasn’t much he could do about that.

You can regret the past, beat yourself up over the bad decisions you made but, in the end, there wasn’t any point in worrying over what you couldn’t change.

I was never perfect he told himself, then again who is? It took him sixty years to find a woman, a companion who loved him for who he was. That’s a long wait he told himself, and he was determined to make the best of what he found in her. Previous relationships had ended in acrimony, he couldn’t get away fast enough knowing he had simply repeated the past and fallen into the same bad habits and he spent more than an adequate amount of time berating himself.

Now with bits not working like he wanted them too, with the days getting longer and he getting more and more tired as his kidneys struggled to allow him to live some sort of ‘normal’ life he faced the prospect of becoming dependent, of not being able to live as he wanted.

There was plenty for him to feel sorry about if he stopped to give it some thought. But that idea was depressing, and he didn’t want to go there as he knew there might not be any coming back.

He looked at the clock and saw it was almost time to retire for his afternoon nap. His mornings were filled with energetic activities a walk, the shops, household jobs, but as the day went on, he tired and knew he needed to rest. Just an hour he told himself.

He knew his mother had maybe thought the same when she lay down one day some thirty years prior and didn’t wake up. A great way to go, but he wasn’t ready just yet, there was so much more to do, people to see and love, places to go, hands to hold and mornings to awaken to a love he never thought would come his way.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/09/19/tale-weaver-241-sorry/