When Regret Meets Hope: Embracing Second Chances during the Holiday Season
I feel a deep longing for my children this time of year. They are currently enjoying a pre-Christmas trip to Belize with their mother's family. Limited Wi-Fi access makes it challenging to stay connected through texts and FaceTime. Not reaching them is particularly difficult, especially when Christmas stirs up so many emotions and memories.
Christmas held a special place in Maddie's heart. She would joyfully parade around the house, singing Christmas songs with the spirit of an old elf. Among all the kids, she was the most curious, eagerly inspecting the presents under the tree daily, hoping for new additions. Despite her growing maturity, Christmas always brought out her childlike innocence.
People have contacted me frequently lately, inviting me to dinners and Christmas parties. I've never been one to decline a social invitation, and I genuinely intend to attend. However, there are times when mustering the energy to leave the couch, get dressed, and step out the door takes every ounce of effort. If I manage to go, I'm always grateful that I did. Yet, on some nights, the rollercoaster of emotions gets the best of me. I can be singing Christmas carols one moment and find myself sitting on my bed, tears streaming down my face, thinking about Maddie, other families experiencing their first Christmas without a loved one, and my boys not sharing this holiday with their sister. It can be overwhelming at times.
It's often said that Christmas brings out the extremes of people's emotions—the best and the worst. It's no coincidence that suicide rates tend to spike during this time of year. Although I've never reached such desperate depths, I do feel my emotions intensify.
Earlier this week, I met up with some close friends at a pub near Yonge & Eglinton. Sometimes, being surrounded by a few trusted friends, pints, and a room full of strangers is a welcome option. After spending a few hours at the Duke of Kent, I struck up a conversation with an older gentleman at the bar named Jimmy. Originally from Ireland, he had immigrated to Canada two decades ago. I inquired if he had family nearby, and he shared that he had a son, but they hadn't spoken in nearly 10 years. Emboldened by the effects of the beers, I asked him about the origin of their estrangement and why they weren't in touch. Jimmy turned to me, searching for that defining moment when their communication ceased, but couldn't recall it precisely. I asked if he missed his son, and without hesitation, he said he missed him daily. Curiously, I asked why he hadn't attempted to rekindle their relationship. Jimmy shrugged, unsure after so much time had passed. That's when I opened up about Madeline. He turned to me, embraced me, and said, "Thank you."
I've always believed that dysfunction exists in every family; it's just a matter of how deep you dig. I know countless families with severed ties between members. Over the past twenty months, I've learned not to postpone being the bigger person. One day, the opportunity to say "I love you," "I'm sorry," or "Merry Christmas" may be lost forever. Don't live with eternal regret if that chance slips away.
Old rivers may run deep, but the path of regret lasts indefinitely.
Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Hold your loved ones close to your heart always.
