"I wish I'd stayed..."

"Joel: I did [leave]. I thought maybe you were a nut, but you were exciting. 

Clementine: I wish you'd stayed.

Joel: I wish I'd stayed too. NOW I wish I'd stayed. I wish I'd done a lot of things. Oh, God, I wish I had...I wish I'd stayed. I do.

Clementine: Well, I came back downstairs, and you were gone. 

Joel: I walked out. I walked out the door.

Clementine: Why? 

Joel: I don't know. I felt like a scared little kid. I was like... It was above my head. I don't know.

Clementine: You were scared?

Joel: Yeah. Thought you knew that about me. I ran back to the bonfire, trying to outrun my humiliation, I think."   -Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

The moment I was told that Marie was gone, I've been filled to the brim with regret.
There wasn't a single fight, argument, or passionate-discussion-concerning-a-matter-on-which-we-disagreed that didn't seem worth having at the time that we had it. There were fights that we had on our way to dinner that kept us home until the restaurant was closed. There were arguments that resulted in angry insults and childish name-calling. There were discussions that resulted in hours of silence and glares across rooms. In the two years we were a couple, we probably didn't have that many fights, arguments, or discussions. Maybe we had the average number for 23 year-olds who had been together for two years, a year of which was long distance. Maybe we even had fewer than average. But now, it seems like that's all we did. I feel like I wasted every second of precious, limited time that I had with her. None of the topics we disagreed on seem to be worth anything. Any arguments that I "won" are pittances, unworthy of the time, energy, and tears spent to win them.
Many of our recent arguments were centered on my notion that she wasn't doing enough to get healthy. Some of them were outbursts of anger at the situation--at the exhaustion that taking care of her induced, despite the fact that she would much rather have been able to care for herself. Some were fits of jealousy that entire networks of churches, friends, and families were praying for her health even though I was also being taxed by the intensity of her illness. Eleven hours before she died, I argued with her on the phone, telling her to stop messing around and tell the doctors that she was well enough to come home.
Of course, after any and all of these disputes, one or both of us apologized. We always forgave each other, and we had never stopped loving each other, even though we may have said so in the midst of anger. When I arrived at the hospital on the 23rd, I apologized to her for all the things I had said to her in this very difficult year, having been swayed by frustration at the situation (not at her) and by sheer exhaustion. As always, she smiled and said she forgave me, and hugged me tightly.
But, that didn't give me back the time I lost. It didn't give me the dinners and dates that were forfeited in exchange for angry words and tears from hurt hearts. It didn't change angry phone conversations into devoted check-ins to make sure she was feeling OK at home and to make sure I wasn't about to collapse at work.
This wasted time, however, doesn't scratch the surface! Instantly after she died, I thought of the Thursday night before. I had been working late on a big project, and had suggested that everyone celebrate the completion of the project with a beer when we were done. I wished I had gone straight home. I wished I had gone straight home after work on my 22nd birthday, instead of having a drink after work with my boss. I wished that I had stayed at our friend's house in California with her when she was sick on our vacation, instead of leaving her there and spending the day visiting friends in town. I wished I hadn't ignored her in Introduction to Music and Art in college when I thought she was an annoying freshman. I even wished I hadn't spent a semester abroad, when I could have stayed in L.A., because, despite my hatred of that foul city, that's where she was. When I was her friend, and even her roommate in college, I wish I hadn't slept so much, but rather had talked to her more. I wish we had watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button fewer times and spent more time talking about...anything. I wish, like Joel in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, that I hadn't been so hesitant to fall in love. I wish I hadn't been scared, and that I had handed over my heart a year before I did. I knew I had her heart. Why didn't I trust her with mine?
And then, there's the regret of her health. Endless ideas have flooded my brain for ten days of how I could have prolonged her life, even for a day. "I should have prayed about what hospital to take her to. Maybe God had a doctor that could have helped her at a different hospital." "I should have taken her to the Mayo Clinic last year." "We should have put her on the organ donation waiting list." Et cetera, et cetera...

Yesterday, I talked to a close friend of mine and Marie's that we went to college with. We met her at the same time, and, while we were in college, spent a TON of time with her. In 2009, a couple of weeks before he graduated, he had a falling out with Marie. Again, it was over something that seemed worthwhile then, but seems really silly now. They argued. She yelled. She stormed off. He e-mailed. He graduated. He moved away. It was about a year later that they spoke again, through e-mail, and decided that they'd never agree on the issue, so to just drop it. With that, they said something like, "I wish you the best," and they moved on with life. It was yet another year before they saw each other again, which was ten days before she died. And they were friends again. Perhaps not the close-knit companions of 2009, but friends who laughed and talked and enjoyed a couple of days of hanging out again. When I talked to him, we briefly talked about that hiatus in their friendship. He regretted it like I regret the millions of mistakes I made in my friendship and partnership with Marie. But, he didn't dwell on it. He was thankful for the time he had with her, and for the reconciliation he had experienced with her, especially just before she died. He looks forward to seeing her in Heaven where illness and stress and schedules and lack of sleep will not contaminate our endless days.
What he did dwell on were the dozens of people who missed any opportunities to know her at all. He pointed out that her own parents had driven her away by their desperate attempts to control every aspect of her life. (He doesn't even know the extent to which her parents missed out!) The obituary that her parents wrote described the Marie of 2006 perfectly, but not the Marie of 2011, because they didn't know that Marie. They didn't want to. And now all they can do is erase that regret by pretending that she was still the high school senior that they knew better than anyone else five years ago.

I fought with her because WE WERE ALWAYS TOGETHER. I got to KISS HER and make up. I disagreed with some of her opinions because SHE SHARED THEM ALL WITH ME. I didn't hesitate to spend time with friends because SHE WAS AT OUR APARTMENT WHEN I RETURNED. I fell asleep easily when we were college roommates ON HER SHOULDER. We watched Benjamin Button so frequently because it was during that movie that WE HAD SHARED OUR FIRST KISS. I fell in love late, but I WAS ABLE TO FALL IN LOVE BECAUSE SHE STUCK WITH ME FOR SO LONG. I wish I could have taken better care of her failing body because I WAS HER CAREGIVER.

Hammering my own heart with my regrets won't change a thing, but I can't help but do so. But for every regret that I brought upon myself, there is a joy that she brought to me.