I like this question, even if it’s a little morbid: If you knew you were going to die this evening, and you couldn’t talk to anyone between now and then, what would you most regret not telling someone?
I can’t claim it as my own; I’ve heard several different people, in several different situations, with several different levels of sobriety pose some permutation of this question. That particular phrasing, in fact, closely resembles the one found in Gregory Stock’s 1987 book “The Book of Questions.”
I posed the question to 24 people on the Plaza of the Americas a couple of weeks ago, and I got an array of thoughtful, different answers.
Many of the answers involved family.
For instance, Anandini Maharaj, 21, said she would want to tell her mother how much she respects her.
“She raised me and my two sisters on her own, and she sacrificed a lot for us,” Maharaj said. “And I don’t think I tell her how much I really respect her, how much she’s influenced my life and how much she means to me.”
“My brother is my favorite person, but also, he was an asshole to me, and I want to tell him that,” Marie Stewart, 21, said. “But I appreciate that. I think because we had so much trouble before, that’s why we’re so close right now.”
Erin Fasig, 19, said that she and her sister haven’t had a very good relationship lately, and that she’d want to say, “Sorry for being an ass sometimes.”
Many people said that they don’t doubt that their friends and family know they love them, but it’s more understood than explicitly stated.
“It’s like getting a Hallmark card,” said Chris Gonzales, 21. “You already know the feelings that are expressed, but it’s just nice to hear it.”
And Noah Camenker, 20, mentioned his regret involves a girl.
“We were talking about stuff, and then there was a long pause,” Camenker said. “If I could go back in time, I’d probably try to use that pause.”
Whether we want to admit it, we all live our lives with some mental estimation of when we’re going to die and act accordingly. Everything we would regret not saying before we died that we choose to continue not to say is an indication of how far out we’ve pushed that estimation.
Ultimately, every “I love you” you leave unspoken, every apology you don’t make and every feeling of appreciation and admiration you let go unexpressed is a bet against death that you’ll have another opportunity to say these things tomorrow. It is, admittedly, a bet that you’ll almost always win — but really, it’s the sort of bet you only need to lose once.
And I’m as guilty of making that bet as anybody else. When interviewees would shoot the question back at me, I’d give some vague answer about regretting not telling one of my best friends that I love her one last time. But that’s only partially true.
Here’s a more complete, oversharing answer: I’d regret not telling her that she’s the first girl I’ve ever loved and been in love with at the same time. I’d regret not telling her that each time I’m able to be more empathetic and less of an impatient jackass with people, I think of her and how she’s helped me be more understanding and compassionate. And I’d regret not telling her that we really should’ve gotten that coffee, even if it would’ve been at a shitty Huddle House at 3 a.m.
There is almost never a good reason not to say the things you’d regret leaving unsaid. Not to be presumptuous, but there’s probably someone who sprang to mind when you read the question, and there’s almost certainly a cell phone near you right now. I’m just sayin’.
Joe Dellosa is an advertising senior. His column appears on Tuesdays.
