08 Jun 2011

No Regrets

2 Comments Personal Crap

I was perusing one of my favorite blogs, Smacksy and came across a post which led me to this article about people’s top 5 regrets from their death beds. ┬áRuss actually mentioned it to me the day of my dad’s unveiling and lovingly remembered the one and ONLY regret my dad imparted to him on my father’s last trip home from the hospital, ten days before he died:

“My one regret is that I’m not going to get to see the next season of Breaking Bad.”

You can deduce one of two things from that statement. Either my father was incredibly selfish and didn’t care about anything or anyone in his life and could only think of a television show in his last days. OR my father lived every second of his life to the fullest, embracing those he loved with compassion, understanding and deep love and spending his time with those he loved the most, only working enough to live comfortably and enjoying all the fruits of life.

I can assure you it is the latter.

So try to start today to live your life the way it is meant to be lived. Realize that you can’t do it every second. We all have back slides, we all make mistakes, we all get impatient and angry, we all wish for better. But take a tip from my dad and love the people in your life with all your strength. Spend your time being as happy as you can. Yes, we have to work and there is a daily trudge through life we all must endure, but in those moments between… Live.

Russ and I have the Breaking Bad dvd’s and we have to start watching. I mean, according to my dad, it’s a damn good show.

written by
Lisa Arch likes being a working actress... but LOVES being a Mom!

2 Responses to “No Regrets”

  1. Reply Christine says:

    I agree wholeheartedly, and I think that your father was blessed and brilliant to know the true secret of life. We are here to Live. And from all you’ve said of him, I believe he did so spectacularly.

    As you know, I had reason to look at my life and think about all I hadn’t done. I made a bucket list full of lofty, grandiose bullshit like hanggliding, mountain climbing, white water rafting, skydiving, learning to play piano, drums and guitar, learning to speak Italian, Spanish and French, learing to use the sewing machine I got three Christmases before, etc., etc., etc.

    I looked over that list and laughed my ass off, tore it up and started a new list of things I’d regret. That list had two things on it: I regret leaving my daughter too soon and I regret leaving my husband too soon. That’s it. Thats all there was to regret. I still get choked up and teary eyed thinking about it.

    But I was pleased and proud that there was nothing else to regret, and to this moment, that is still so. Whatever I do, I do it with full knowledge that I want to do it, that it is important to my life, and that it is important to the life of those who are a part of my life.

    And so…

    I love with my whole heart.

    I parent with my entire being.

    I am the best mother, wife, daughter, granddaughter, sister and friend that I can possibly be.

    I forgive myself when I am not the best mother, wife, daughter, granddaughter, sister and friend that I can possibly be.

    I laugh often.

    I think and I draw and I write and I teach passionately, holding nothing back.

    I cook and eat delicious, rich, beautiful foods.

    I exercise for the pleasure of having a body that is able to move.

    I am honest, as they say, to a fault. If I love you, you know it. If I am upset with you, you know it. If I think you are an asshole, you know it. If the dress makes you look fat, I will tell you. If the dress makes me look fat but makes you look like a sex goddess, I will tell you. If the dress makes you look fat and makes me look like a sex goddess, well, then I will definitely tell you!

    Should I ever again face my death bed before I am old and ready to go, I will have but two regrets. That I am leaving my daughter too soon, and that I am leaving my husband too soon.

    And perhaps that I’ve never even heard of Breaking Bad.

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