I could have been kinder. I could have been more patient. I could have listened better. I could have made fewer excuses. Kept quiet. Listened better. I could have fought harder. Fought less. Not held on so tightly. Gone that extra mile, but not the next seven.
Sat in the mess and just felt the grief flood through me.
Cheered louder. Waved more flags that weren’t red.
Not hidden behind old habits and distractions. Not run like a horse in a barn fire with eyes wide and wild, just running and running hard, afraid that I was still in the blaze.
Not embelished for sympathy. Not overshared to exorcise demons.
I shouldn’t have been mean. It’s better to be kind than it is to be “right.”
Kept my jealousy in check.
To stop second guessing myself or catastophizing everything.
To have been less prideful and shown more grace. To trust better.
I could have drunk more coffee. Unashamed.
I could have gone out and watched the sunset today.
I could have played catch with my son more.
I could have told people No when they needed to hear it and not worry about losing someone who refused to believe I was serious when I said it.
I could have lived less with regrets and just lived more.
I wish I would have learned about Boundaries instead of how to do polynomial equations.
Climbed more trees. Broken more bones. Believed in myself more.
Beat myself up less.
Been myself more.
In the moment.