I find myself offering apologizes. It's not that I have regrets. I don't have regrets.
If I've loved – I declared it.
If I've feared – I risked it.
If I've sinned - I confessed it.
That's one of the reasons I returned to Roman Catholicism when I was 23. I love Confession. I love publicly admitting what I've done and what I've failed to do. I love taking ownership of my sins. I love making amends for my transgressions. So you see I love confession, and repentance, and reconciliation.
I'm not looking back on my life with regret. And I don't feel guilty. I haven't left deeds unconfessed, unrepented, unamended, or unfinished. As I move toward death - be it sooner or later - I daily examine my conscience and I amend my life. And lately I find myself apologizing. A lot. My behavior is sentimental. I feel embarrassed by the exhibition. and so I explain myself.
Last week I sat with my best friend and I apologized to him. I told him the reason I'm so sentimental is that I miss him. I explained that I don't miss him now - I miss our future. I miss the conversations we won't have - the activities we won't share - and the laughs we won't give each other. I'm smart enough to know the finite of the friendship. My irregular heartbeat is a metronome of our finishing moments.
This morning I played tunes and my Mother walked by me. I watched her 79 year old body as she moved. My Mother is so fun. While music soundtracked my childhood, she rarely walked; she danced. She rarely spoke; she sang. My Mother was a great dancer. When she heard a song she loved - she danced a combination of a tap and a step. She could twist and turn from her ankles to her toes. Very unique. But that was before the pain. That was before the ache. This morning as music guided her and she walked by - she just walked. And I missed her. I miss her.
Sentimental? I don't know.
Don't you want to be missed?