Ree—grets

 There's a lot of regrets in my awareness — 

“Things I did I shoulda didn't;

     And things I didn't do I shoulda dood!”

I am occasionally tempted to list them … but good judgment dictates that I do not.

First, it would be such a daunting task … 

“continuous as the stars that shine … in a never ending line ...”     

(like unto daffodils.)

Second —  and perhaps more dissuasive — is that, although I steadfastly maintain that I am not clinically depressed, I am yet given to bouts of sadness, upon reflection of my relationships with those dear ones long gone . . .

Significant is that in the years beginning in 2000 I resisted the urge — the urgent need  — to go to California to visit my parents.

I was fighting an agonizing array of personal difficulties, having just walked out on my fifth marriage, agonizing over my perceived worth —  or lack thereof — uncertain of any destination, unable to coherently plot a course — I continued to think that there was time — would be enough time — I'd get around to it …

But there was not enough time.  Almost suddenly, “before I knew it,”  they were both gone.

And I can't undo it ...