My brother Sam was the youngest of our four siblings. I was the oldest. Sam was born when I was 16 and going off to college. I was far less brotherly toward him than were my other two siblings. When an adult, Sam grew generally distant from our family, a bachelor living in another state, working as a bartender. Highly intelligent, Sam’s thinking and planning were romantically grandiose, bordering on the delusional. He had unfulfilled schemes to be everything from a professional boxer to an explorer on expeditions to undersea ‘lost’ worlds. Living a seemingly lonely life, Sam hung himself at age 37. Only days before his suicide, Sam had phoned me (a virtually unprecedented event) to say “hello,” which, in retrospect, was his personal “goodbye.”
Suicide always leaves friends and loved ones ‘holding the bag.’ Sam’s death left me with the long-lasting regret that I hadn’t been more attentive, more supportive …more a lot of things… for him. Now, even years later, I suffer what can be termed “closed door remorse,” …. a regret not fixable, because the person Is no longer alive. Whenever I think of Sam, it causes me recurring sadness and guilt.
Many years later, in my midlife and working at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, my secretary one afternoon announced a phone call for me from “Andrea D.” I hadn’t heard that name in 40 years.
Andrea had been my girlfriend in our late teens and early college years. We were both mid-westerners attending the U. of Michigan in Ann Arbor. After a three-year romance, she abruptly had mutual friends deliver the news that she needed a change … that she needed to seek greener pastures. We had no contact after that until her phone call. I had known for years that she had established a clinical psychology practice in our hometown … she had become a patient of my dentist brother John and sometimes inquired about me. I also knew from John that she had never married.
Quite surprised and somewhat hesitant, I picked up the phone to greet this woman from my past. Perplexed about why Andrea might be calling after so many years, I hesitantly greeted her. After exchanging a few awkward pleasantries, I asked why she was phoning. She said, “I just want to apologize.”
She offered nothing more, both of us knowing it was for her abrupt ending of our relationship years ago. I insisted she had no reason for remorse, and she countered that her apology was “just the right thing to do.” After a further exchange of courtesies and small talk, we said our goodbyes.
Reflecting some time later about her call, it occurred to me that as a mental health therapist, it was likely she often urged penitence in others, and perhaps was exercising repentance herself. Her remorse is an example of an “open-door regret”…. shame that can be ameliorated because it involves a living person, however awkward and uncomfortable the offered contrition may be.
The lesson in her call is that when one cares about a relationship that has been undone, one can somehow establish contact, make a visit, do something to reach out … to push past the mental clumsiness and reluctance blocking needed action.
When I reflect on her apology and the courage it took for Andrea to carry through, there’s a valuable life lesson --- open-door regrets allow us to extend ourselves to do what should be done, however difficult and humbling it may be.
From attending Al-Anon meetings for many years, I learned about “making amends” as an enhancement to offering apologies. The intention and sentiment conveyed in ‘making amends’ is that one not only faces up to and apologizes for ill behavior, but also promises to do better in the future. It seems an enhanced, more sincere effort than offering only personal acknowledgment and lament for past transgressions.
In his insightful book The Power of Regret, Daniel Pink describes the valuable concepts of “closed and open regrets.” He further suggests: “We all should transform regret into reaching out and doing better.”
Ken Fellows
Joanna Seibert joannaseibert.com
