Frank Sinatra sang in his song about doing it his way, that he had a few regrets as he faced the "final curtain". As my diseased heart continues to weaken, I see more and more clearly my final curtain hovering over-head, soon to be making its last closure. It is time for me to ponder any lingering regrets from my 65 years on this planet.

My pondering took me in several directions. First I listed the things I wished I hadn't done which felt like burdens I've carried on my shoulders for years. Soon I realized that no one had been hurt by these little lapses in character and no one's life had been changed or ruined. My solution: a long, warm shower to wash away these burdens and watch them go down the drain, relieving my shoulder pain and dashing any idea of regret. No regrets left here.

I then questioned some of the roads I chose; some more and some less traveled. My memory quickly took me to 1967, the year I graduated from high school.

This was THE beginning of my freedom of everything after growing up under the hawk-like stare of my grandparents within a suffocating environment non-conducive to maturing and learning how to make decisions.

So, here I was, almost 19 years old but emotionally/socially about 13 years old. The straight and narrow road which was so familiar, yet uncomfortable, had ended and now I stood before a variety of untraveled roads. . .and, it was time for me to make my first decision which would lead me in the direction of what I wanted to be when I grew up. My excitement was such a high, that I forgot to be scared. I felt so free that I might float lazily away upon the first spring breeze.

Choices had to be made which would affect the rest of my life, but, I didn't have a clue on how to make the best choice. I had decided about a year before,
that I wanted to be an Episcopal minister. I shared this with my grandfather. His response was to pat me on top of my head, chuckle, then tell me that my goal was admirable but women could not be ministers. Thus ended that career choice.

My next choice had been to join the military and I chose the Air Force. If I liked it, I would make it my career. With Vietnam killing so many of our young men on battlegrounds, I figured I would have a job for a while with pay, benefits, uniforms, medical, food and housing provided. . .it was a career choice with a safety net. However, my grandmother was enraged when I told her my plan. She stated that "good girls" did not join the military because all the women who did join, came home pregnant. This was still not an acceptable condition for young, unmarried woman in 1967. And, thus ended that road to my future.

Early in my senior year of high school, our school guidance counselor met with each senior to help us along with post-graduation life choices. This female counselor was about 105 years old, Victorian old school and frightened me into a quivering mass of jello. She never asked me what I would like to do after graduation, she just checked my GPA and handed me some forms to apply for a two year college grant and more forms to apply at a local junior college. She TOLD me I would work in the newly developing hot careers in data processing. I was in and out of her office in ten minutes, head spinning and unhappy.

I also considered joining a neighborhood realty company training program to become a Realtor, but I had already received my grant for college and acceptance into junior college. . .and that was my chosen road. Unfortunately, that road was filled with the notorious Michigan post-winter pot-holes and after only one semester, I fell into a pot-hole and that journey ended, too. But, I have no regrets.

I had fallen in love and decided to get a job to have some income and get married. Gerald and I both worked and bought a little house in town. Five years and two daughters later, we bought a new house in the burbs. There, a third daughter mysteriously appeared. And, we were a statistic: husband/wife working, three children, new house in burbs with two cars in the driveway and a dog in the fenced backyard. I believe there was some 60's music which poked fun at these old-fashioned values. . .

Then I pondered the raising of children. As I mentioned, I gave birth to and raised three daughters. Those years during the 1970's and 1980's I refer to as the "whirling dervish" years. I recall always moving, always busy, always in the car running errands for children. Each child had a totally different personality from the other. If you ask each one how they would rate me as a mother, you would get three totally different opinions from "saint" to "cold and indifferent". One of these daughters and I no longer speak since she posted on Facebook, a tirade of lies about how her life was a mess because of me. Even so, I do not regret having children.

The marriage lasted 14 years, but then my patience ran out. Being the wife of a functioning alcoholic is not exactly my idea of paradise. But, even living with a drunk and attempting to keep a step ahead of three daughters moving in three different directions and going to three different schools, I regret none of it.

The issue of regrets surfaced when an ex-sister-in-law of one daughter hailed me on Facebook and asked me if I had any regrets from my past. She had been a horrid mother to four sons and now they are grown and giving her flack about her behaviors as a parent. I spent a few days thinking on this, then gave her this answer: "No, I haven't any regrets because we make decisions based on our
life experiences and maturity level available at the time of each decision. We do the best we can with what we have."

I conclude that my final curtain will softly close one night while I sleep and it will be without any entanglements of regrets. My soul will be light and free to explore the Heavens.