I don’t carry regrets in life. Not really. I’ve made choices, some good, some bad, but they were mine. They shaped me. I own them.
Except for one.
Ten years ago, my brother was murdered. He was drowned in a lake by people he believed were his friends. That pain, the loss, the shock, the guilt, has never dulled. People say time heals, but for me, it hasn't. Not when it comes to him.
You see, on the day he died, he called me. He needed a ride home. And I told him no.
I was angry. Not at him, really, but I took it out on him. I was angry at a life that had left me feeling invisible. Angry at being the kid from a previous relationship, the one who didn’t quite fit into the "new family." My mother had moved on, foster kids, adopted children, new routines, and I felt like a ghost in her world. I was bitter, volatile, and carrying around more pain than I could handle.
So when my brother reached out, I lashed out. I told him he got himself there, he could get himself back. I didn’t know those would be the last words I’d ever say to him.
Hours later, the police came to the door. When they asked for my parents, I rolled my eyes and said something like, “Ugh, what did he do now?” I didn’t know he was already dying. I didn’t know he’d be gone before the night ended. I didn’t know my anger would be the last thing he heard from me.
That regret? It lives in my bones. I’ve replayed it more times than I can count, what if I had picked him up? What if I had just been kinder? Would he still be here? Grief has a way of making you live in the "what ifs." They can eat you alive if you let them. I try not to, but I still do.
My brother was so gentle. He had this quiet kindness, this beautiful spirit. He loved music, playing guitar, drawing, laughing. He was helpful, thoughtful, and always saw the good in others, even in me, even when I didn’t deserve it. He deserved better. And I hate that I couldn’t give that to him while he was here. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly forgive myself for that. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe some things just stay with you. But I do know this: I loved him. I always have. I took him for granted, and I’ll carry that forever.
But his life, his heart, taught me something too. He taught me to lead with love. To be kind, even when I don’t feel like it. To never let the people I care about go unappreciated. That’s the gift he gave me. And I try, every single day, to live up to it. Ten years ago, the world lost someone beautiful. But I still feel him around me. I like to think he sends little signs now and then, like the fish that swam up to me tonight, as if to say hello.
He may be gone, but he will never, ever be forgotten. I will never forget him, because that is the least I can do. Since the words, ''I'm so sorry." litereally mean nothing, and will never bring him back.