Regret

The End Is Just the Beginning
by Arlene Churn, Ph.D.

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Regret has many faces and many meanings. Those who have lost a loved one may regret acts left unperformed or words unspoken. We may regret the loss to ourselves of someone who loved and supported us unconditionally. And our friends and relatives may regret that we have been so saddened and are suffering such a loss. It is an emotion involving sorrow and remorse, and one that often demands some act of penitence.

My own regrets when my mother died were too numerous to list here. I began by regretting not having taken trips with her, not exchanging advice about things that were important to each of us. I felt deep sorrow and painful remorse.

Our act of penitence is often carried out as some form of ongoing after-death apology. For example, we African Americans are known to be extremely vocal at funerals, frequently moaning, "I'm sorry" and "Please forgive me." As a form of penitence, some people begin to perform acts they know would have pleased the departed. They might start to attend church regularly (at least for a while), return to school, or participate in family activities — all to make up for not having done these things while the deceased was alive. In the same way, others might give up behaviors they know displeased their loved one. Either way, the mourner may derive a small sense of comfort from believing that the departed would be pleased or proud of his or her effort to make up and be forgiven for past conduct.

Often we hear grievers lament, "If I had only known" — which means, of course, they really did know — of deeds left undone and acts of kindness they could have bestowed upon the deceased. Certainly that was true in my case.

THE MANNER or cause of our loved one's death can sometimes delay our regret. In the case of a severe and prolonged illness, for example, we might first feel relief, followed by regret. But the manner of death — alone, after prolonged suffering, or as the result of an accident or violent crime — can also be a cause of regret, as can the age of the deceased. Our regret is always that much greater when someone dies young or in the prime of life. But, life is a gift and death is a given. How and when we die is but a small part of the mystery of life, known only to the Creator, the giver of life, and we must, therefore, learn to live through the "could have/should have" phase of mourning and move on to the realization that there is no way to undo or redo the past. All we can do is forgive ourselves, adopt a new attitude about life in general, and begin to cherish each day as a new beginning.

IN GROUP therapy sessions, many people confess that what they really regret is that they no longer have their loved one physically available to them. Simply put, just knowing and accepting the reality that the deceased is no longer "there for me," is the one regret they find most difficult to overcome. In this sense, their regret is actually for themselves rather than for the deceased.

This is particularly true for African Americans, as we have always drawn strength from close family ties and deep, established relationships. Perhaps because of racism and other social divisions, we have looked within the circle of family and special friends for our main source of strength and security. We habitually pledge to "always be there" for someone we love. Even the lyrics of a popular song recorded in the 1960s by The Four Tops have led us to believe that "If ever you need me, I'll be there," and often we take that pledge literally, which makes it all the harder for us to accept the fact that when a loved one dies neither we nor the deceased can continue to keep that promise. And the broken pledge can also be a two-edged sword, because if someone has vowed to "always be there" for us, we in turn may come to feel that he or she is our possession — my husband, my wife, my baby, my home girl, my main man, my woman. If we interpret that to mean "mine and mine alone," the loss can leave a permanent, unfillable void.

ONE OF the strengths of African American culture is that we can always find solace in a song, scripture, or an old saying handed down to us by elders who have weathered similar personal storms. Before there were support groups, therapy, and counseling, we gained strength and healing from songs. And these simple chants still provide temporary comfort and postpone the need for an immediate answer to our questions. "Why and why now?" is the question answered in the song "We'll Understand It Better By and By," while the lament "How am I going to make it?" finds a response in the song "God Will Take Care of You." In these and other verses, we are admonished to accept the will of God because He makes no mistakes, and, at the same time, we are assured that "He will be a mother for the motherless, a father for the fatherless, and a friend that will stick closer than a brother" — words that are intended to relieve us of feeling any regret for the loss.

SOOTHING WORDS of Old Testament scripture can almost always be found in Psalm 23, "The Lord Is My Shepherd," which reassures us that "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me . . ." God, the psalm tells us, will be with the griever in this dark hour, and He will also accompany the deceased on his journey of passage from life to death.

The New Testament scripture of comfort is usually John 14, verses 1 to 3, which promise grievers and mourners that the departed is going to a better place where he will reside with God until such time as they are all reunited on the other side:

Let not your Heart be troubled,

Ye believe in God, believe also in Me,

In my Father's house are many mansions,

If it were not so, I would have told you,

I go to prepare a place for you, that where

I am, there ye may be also.

ONCE THE songs are sung and the scripture read, however, regret for the loss of a loved one still remains with the griever, and too often, in our effort to postpone the inevitable feeling of emptiness, we resort to denial as a way of dealing with our regret.

Copyright © 2003 by Arlene Churn. Excerpted by permission of Harlem Moon, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

An ordained Baptist minister and certified Grief Counsel Specialist, Reverend Arlene Churn, ph.D., has served as Plenary Chair of the White House Conference on Children and coordinator of the 3.5 million female members of the National Baptist Convention. Currently President of Unlimited Horizons, a consulting firm, she travels around the globe as an acclaimed motivational speaker. The Reverend Dr. Churn lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.