All he wanted was French toast.
And she said no.
She didn’t know he’d have an aneurysm the next day. She didn’t know he wouldn’t make it back to their breakfast table. She didn’t know he’d leave her holding guilt, instead of eggy milk and bread, and a spatula to try to flip her life back
to the decision that played nightmare in her dreams…
French toast was never meant to be eaten with regret.
She said, “No.” It haunted her for years – a ghost that swirled its icy fingers around her heart and brought a chill to all those around. Her regret reeked of death, etching a groove in her brain that played over and over and over… If only, if only, if only. How could I? How could I? How could I?
I’m bad, I’m evil. I don’t deserve to live.
I’m bad. I’m evil. I don’t deserve to live.
Regret wreaked havoc in our home, in our mom. She wasted years fighting its ugly hold.
In the end, it took unearthly courage to reach out for help, to decide on drastic measures deemed necessary, to agree to an electric shock to shove her brain past the etched out madness and wake her up from that dark, dark place.
But awaken she did.
She clawed her way back to life
She made her way back to truth
And she lived the rest of her life do the hard work
of forgiving herself
… of looking Regret – square in his insidious face – and send him straight back to Hell by living out her days with Hope.
And send him back she did.
My sweet reminder:
Life begins and ends with forgiveness.
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