Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Writing the ‘Regret Person’

FRIDAY, March 5  –  I’m in the park with Eamonn and the dog and I’ve taken along a baseball glove. Spring practice has already started and I’m going to do my damndest to get my youngest son onto the field, but it’s a no-go. Nothing works and, for him, there’s no pleasure in the park. Too many memories of Mom.

Nothing works. He cries when I toss him the ball and he won’t go after it. He cries when I put the ball into his glove and ask him, plead with him, order him to throw it back. Then he comes over to me and says, ‘Could we write the regret person that I wish I was never born?’

I tell him that Mom considered the birth of her two boys her greatest gifts. You must never, never regret that you were born. He doesn’t get the message. We walk home again, the dog somewhat confused that the fun in the park is already over. I try to imagine what the regret person in Eamonn’s head looks like.

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One thought on “Writing the ‘Regret Person’

  1. My son couldn’t go back to baseball after his dad died. I hated it for him. Eventually he found another sport that worked for him. Still broke both of our hearts though.

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