223. Enough? That’s the Question
I have a song that I wrote after my Mother’s death called I Didn’t Know. It’s on my CD and the words to the song start out:
—
I didn’t know it would be so very hard to let you go,
I didn’t know, I didn’t know.
I wonder did I say that I love you so,
I wonder did I say enough I love you so?
© Copyright 1984 Ann Freeman Price
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The song goes on but it occurs to me that the important word in that last line is “enough.” Now that I am 79 and living my 80th year, it is the time in my life where I am losing people—friends have died, are dying, are going to be dying. “Enough” is the crucial word because in instance after instance I find myself thinking “Oh—I wish I had talked to him about this,” or “Oh—I wish we had just picked up and gone for a drive together.”
It’s not so much guilt—as it is lost opportunities. It’s not so much about actually saying “I love you,” (although that too), but it’s about coming to that place where it’s too late to do those things or say those things, and suddenly I feel like I didn’t do or say “enough.”
There are no solutions I think. It’s a matter of staying current with as many people as I can, of living as rich and full a life as I can just packed with people, and it’s a matter of knowing that when someone dies I’m going to say, “Oh, I wish I had……….”
