Top Five Regrets of the Dying

Okay, I know this is not exactly an uplifting title. I get it.  But stick with me, my friend. Maybe we can learn something that help us get through the next few weeks of house arrest.

Every couple of years some movie Producer  decides to reinvent the time tested story. The formulaic story of the couple that meets on the subway (insert airplane, blind date, internet, etc.) and instantly falls madly in love. (See also: any Hugh Grant movie and/or any movie that ever aired on The Hallmark Channel).

The couple has the storybook romance. I usually don’t get too deep into the trailer before I lean over and whisper in my wife’s ear: “she’s gonna die.\’\’

And that’s where the story begins. 

Guys hate these movies. The only way you can get us into the theater is through pure trickery. There should be a law against trickery.

Despite my personal dislike for sappy, Rom Com turned tear-jerker, I will admit that I’m intrigued by the wisdom of the dying.

I’ve sadly watched a few friends and family members go through the slow, painful malignant demise. It’s awful. But there’s something beautiful and instructive in the transition. Or at least it appears so in movies and television. Are you with me on this?

We all wonder how we are gonna die. Long, drawn out illness? Or like Kobe Bryant. Enjoying a Sunday afternoon with his daughter. No warning. Game over. 

Perhaps this global pandemic caused us to more carefully contemplate our own mortality.

I recently read a book on this subject: The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware. The book recounts stories of Ware’s life in palliative care, treating the dying. People like Ware are truly angels among us. The book is kinda predictable but the wisdom is highly instructive.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could do a three-day retreat and gain this kind of wisdom? Wouldn’t you love to have this kind of clarity without having to suffer or die? And then get to live out the rest of your days with the clarity of the dying? Sign me up. 

Ware boils down all her years in palliative care to just five points. So let’s go through her five important lessons of the dying. And, I’ll attempt to provide some color commentary.  

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

If you’re a regular reader, you’ve probably heard me say that “life is a journey.” It’s one of my favorite sayings-and I usually follow that up with, “…..and not all the roads are straight or paved.” So if it’s truly a journey, then isn’t it logical to occasionally ask the question: “Am I going in the right direction?” Of course it is.

The problem is that we don’t often choose our direction. It’s either happenstance, or the journey is chosen for us.

I know a ton of lawyers who are miserable. Someone told them when they were 18 that they should go to Law School. Next thing you know they’re billing hours.

Yet they pressed on, head down, leaning into the headwind. Or as David Byrne croons, “Letting the days go by.” Assuming that there will be time to reorient, once they pay off the student debt, get married, or buy a house. You get the point. But life rarely works that way.  

As you might imagine, clarity comes easy when time is short. People begin to realize that some of their dreams will go unfulfilled. Sorta like when you finally realize that you aren’t gonna be President of the United States or climb Mt. Everest or race in the Kona Ironman. Same thing except those decisions have, at least, some measure of choice in them.  

Ware supposes that the average person “had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.” Heavy stuff. 

The simple truth is that our health brings us a certain amount of freedom. That freedom begets procrastination. We can always do it later because time is infinite. But when time is short and our health is failing, we begin to really question the major decisions made on the journey. And that’s where the regret creeps in.

2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

Apparently working too hard is mostly reserved for men. (Hey, don’t shoot the messenger I didn’t write the book.) This one struck a little close to home. You may recall an earlier story I wrote on this subject. My sweet little girl came home from Kindergarten or first grade with a picture. She handed it to me and said, my teacher asked us to draw a picture of Mommy and Daddy doing what they love. My wife was drawn arranging flowers. I was drawn sitting in the window seat of a Delta jet. Ouch. That framed picture spent the last 15 years on my desk.

According to Ware, “all of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.” That word “treadmill” got me thinking. Do the people in this story regret the amount of time they spent working? Or do the people in this story regret what they spent that time doing?

Every year, the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics conducts an American Time Use Survey. The Bureau asks thousands of Americans to document how they spend their time. According to the study, most people spend 8.68 hours/day sleeping, 7.78 hours/day working and 3.45 hours/day watching television.

I wonder if the problem here is that people do not have a sense of pride in the type of work that they perform. Therefore, the countless hours at work seem wasted-a chasing of the wind. Just a hunch. And then they simply regret the time wasted at the office…as they start to run out of time.

It wasn’t about working too hard. It was about working too hard on things that seem inconsequential—in the end. Oddly, nobody seems to regret the amount of time spent watching The Voice or American Idol.

Ware goes on to say, “the chase for more, and the need to be recognized through our achievements and belongings, can hinder us from the real things, like time with those we love, time doing things we love ourselves, and balance. It’s probably all about balance really, isn’t it?”

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Okay, if number two is a guy thing, #3 is a mostly a girly thing. Apparently many people regret holding their tongue. (This is likely related to Regret #1: “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”) Maybe way back in your youth we should have pushed back on the idea of Law School. But most people say they regret suppressing their feelings to avoid discord. And that’s how you end up in a Talking Heads song.

So people pursue things that aren’t authentic. You know, careers, colleges, relationships and such. Stuff to make Mom or Dad happy. The kind of stuff you don’t really figure out until it’s too late to turn back. Or you’re on your deathbed trying to make sense of your life. The result, it seems, is an existence that restricts one’s ability to satisfy our own dreams. And an overwhelming sense of regret.

It kinda reminds me of my fav Television commercial of all time. Where the high school star sinks the buzzer-beater to win the big game. He is offered a scholarship on the spot. His dad is high-fiving him. The kid objects saying, “but Dad, I wanna dance!” And he starts to march around the court to show tunes. Hysterical and instructive.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

In many cases the dying do not realize their deep longing for friendship until it’s too late. It becomes difficult to rekindle an old friendship when your days are numbered. “Hey Bill, how have you been? Say, let’s get together and catch up. By the way I’m dying so we ought to make it this week.”

Friendships take energy and effort and time. With work and family and little league games, we simply put friendships on the back burner for another day. We become so caught up in our own busy lives that we let their deepest friendships wane over the years. 

Apparently everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

According to Ware, everyone wants to “put their affairs in order”. It’s not money or stuff that holds importance. But ensuring that things are in order for the benefit of those that we love. Ironically, many people wait until they are too weary to begin-or finish the task. 

In the final weeks of my father-in -law’s life I attempted the awkward conversation. He had been in bed 24 hours a day, for most of a year. The chat was hard on both of us. Fortunately, he knew that I loved him and that I wasn’t trying to write myself into his will.

I closed the door and sat on the edge of his bed. I gently asked if his affairs were in order. He just kept saying, “I’m gonna get up.” It was the hardest conversation I’ve ever had. 

At the end of the line, particularly in the final weeks of life, all that remains is love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

I often wonder if the things we worry about are truly the right things to worry about. That when our days are numbered that we might regret the silliness of our own neurosis. Do you think we will remember what we worried about? I don’t.

Like what other people think of us. Or whether our kid is gonna make the traveling baseball team. Or whether we’ll finally get that promotion to Assistant Vice President.

We become comfortable in our discomfort. All that anxiety can only seem silly when the perpetuity of life is stripped away. But anxiety is comforting. Like an old pair of sweatpants that we just can’t throw away. 

In this state we are not truly happy. We are merely pretending to be content—for the cameras. 

Deep within their soul the dying long for silliness. To smile and laugh and giggle and tell corny jokes and have milk squirt out of their nose. The intimacy of friendship and laughter. What others think of them becomes irrelevant. 

Conclusion

I wonder if hearing you are on “limited time” creates an unexpected sense of relief. Relief that we can finally let go of the rope-without fearing the rope burns of life. Relief that the old is stripped away and we can finally focus on what is truly important. No guilt over whether we should be on a conference call, or checking emails, or working out. No worry about the last time we had our oil changed or had our teeth cleaned. An almost childlike wonder of finally being able to see the world more clearly. As if someone finally turned on the lights and everything came into focus.  

What about you? What are you worrying about today-that might seem trivial if your days were numbered? Leave me a comment below and I’ll respond back to you.

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And that’s where the story ends.

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