Regret… That one word can bring back many painful memories you might want to forget about. It could be something as small as not going shopping that one day or something as big as an action that has caused emotional and physical pain. Here is one problem from five years ago that I still regret and ponder about to this day.

It was summer time, an enticing day I would say, but appalling at the same time, and it only got more dreadful as the day went on. The smell of the hospital reached my nostrils; the scent reached my nose and constantly reminded me over and over again where I was and why I was there. The walk there was absolutely slow, and everything was going in slow motion. There were nurses running and lots of families, but the hall was primarily vacant. The walls of the hospital were blue, the doors were brown with white borders, and the rooms were white with almost no to some color. I was standing immobile in front of the door. The door number began with a three.

We tread into the room, and all of our relatives were there, sitting around the hospital bed. We all started saying goodbye and talking with him, holding his hand and talking amongst ourselves. I remember that my dad was balling his eyes out, and the two other crying girls were his sisters; everyone else was unquestionably pessimistic, and the air was indeed melancholy. Soon enough it was my turn; my dad urged me to walk up to him, and I held his brittle hand, wrinkled over time. During the process I was surely disoriented, and I kept pulling apart from his hand and felt assuaged when he let go of my hand, like a boulder rolling off my shoulders. At that time I was about six years old, and I didn’t really understand the circumstances. Shortly after that we said our farewells and left. I don’t really remember anything after that or before it.

The materiality only hit a while after, which happened about two years later, and from that day I kept on thinking he probably felt certainly sad because I was pulling away from him and that I didn’t give him a genuine goodbye, which gave me a heart wrenching feeling like my heart kind of drowned itself in water. To be honest, I don’t know why it’s still bugging me in the back of my mind, poking at my brain, but that day, when I pulled away, I felt like I did something wrong. Something really bad, but I can’t really explain it, something like betrayal. I still feel guilty to this day. What did he think? Was he disheartened or sad? Did he feel conflicted? Did he abhor me after that?

It was a Sunday afternoon, and my whole family was sitting at the table playing card games. We were playing one in particular in Italian and joking around. It was the end of the card game and Dad said, “You know… if Nonno Patata was here he would probably yell at you guys for playing this game horribly.” We all had a good laugh, but not the bellyaching one, rather the one where you just remember the past even if it wasn’t great and just chuckle thinking about those times. Three years later, when we were in Italy for vacation, we were in church. My dad walked up to the family and said, “Do you guys want to buy a candle for Nonno Patata? It's almost been four years since he has died.” At that moment my sisters burst out crying, and we embraced each other. 

I was paying no heed to it five years ago, but looking at it now I learned an undoubtedly important lesson that I didn’t know at the time. It is okay to be scared; it’s everyone's natural reaction to something we don’t know. So just because you're scared about something, it’s not your fault. If you don’t dwell on the past, it makes your life much easier. No one’s going to blame you in that situation, and it’s not your fault. So the best thing you can do is move on with friends and family.

-Elena