regrets

Peeking through the blinds in the living room, he insisted the mafia was watching him.

That’s when I first knew something was wrong with my brother, Ken. It wasn’t long after that when he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

Things were never the same as hallucinations, voices in his head and general paranoia became a part of daily life. Treatment included hospitalizations, group homes and, of course, lots of medication. Since there wasn’t—and still isn’t—a cure for this devastating mental illness, his quality of life wasn’t much to speak of.

While Ken struggled in ways that I cannot imagine, the whole family did as well. My parents carried the load, of course, a load that no parent should ever have to carry.

As for me, I didn’t deal with it very well. The brother who shared a bunk bed with me for so many years was, for all practical purposes, gone. Having a coherent and meaningful conversation with him became impossible, and so the secrets we had shared over the years became my secrets and mine alone. If Ken remembered them or treasured them he never let on. Or couldn’t let on.

Over time I distanced myself from him, a decision I would live to regret when he died in his early 30s from a heart attack.  

Filled with guilt at abandoning my brother when he needed me most, I shared my story several times—complete with regrets—with families and friends of other schizophrenics. Each time I would tearfully plead with them not to distance themselves from their loved ones, to remain by their side no matter how difficult it may be.

My regrets also compelled me to pour my life into a high school friend who got leukemia. I visited him almost every day after work for several months and was there at his side when he died. I can picture his face to this day.

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I’ve learned a few things about regrets that I’d like to pass on. They may be painfully obvious to you, but, unfortunately, I had to learn them the hard way.

First the obvious: Regrets never go away. While time has lessened the pain of how I treated my brother after he got sick, I’m convinced it will never fully go away. It stinks, but that’s the way it is.

But there is an upside to regrets. If we let them, they can fuel necessary life change. I’d like to think that at least one family member stuck by their schizophrenic loved one rather than pull away. And I’d like to think I was a comfort to my friend as he slowly succumbed to leukemia.

Maybe, just maybe, God took my regrets and did something useful with them. Maybe, just maybe, it was a Romans 8:28 thing:

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”1

It’s obviously better not to have regrets, so if there’s something you need to do that you’re not doing, please correct the situation right now. As in, stop reading and do it.

Now.

But if you already have regrets, please let God turn it into a positive. Please allow the Lord to channel your painful memories into something good, for both you and others.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.”

That includes your regrets.

1  Rom 8:28