Last day
Regrets are odd bastards.
One of my oldest friends was diagnosed with terminal cancer some 4 years ago and although fighting it with every ounce of strength he had he gradually slipped silently into becoming the grey, sickly figure his family gathered around in the Leeds Infirmary.
Not that I knew that at the time, no, I was far more bothered about telling the world about how my then fiancee and now ex-bitch from hell had ripped out my heart and dumped me. I wallowed in self pity while he wallowed in a morphine induced haze.
I visited him once, with a group of other friends, and passed the time of day and looked concerned. But my mind was elsewhere, because that ex-bitch was still twisting the knife in my stupid little heart and nothing and no-one could snap me out of this grandious despair, not even one of my oldest friends losing a leg, then a lung.. then all hope.

By some weird twist of something I found myself one day actually considering the notion of visiting him.. I trudged up the hill to the local infirmary to which he had been moved to and spent a sobering hour or so with him at his bedside. By now he was taking oxygen every few seconds and couldn't really talk. It was December, I gave him a miniature Christmas tree for his bedside cabinet and said ' See you later then..'
I was the last person to speak to him.

My regrets are obvious, spending far too much precious time wanking around, moaning about my ex.. and in a funny way I regret that I was the last person to speak to him. His father, his brother, any one of our mutual friends who had all been better bed side visitors and better company for him in his last few months should have been there, not me.
Not 'johnny-come-lately' me.

I regret not realising what was more important back then.
I make sure not to make that mistake again nowadays

Oh dear, sorry to be depressing, here.. have a lollipop.
(Hicksion, Fri 6 Oct 2006, 14:43, Reply)