More random thoughts from my journey after the death of my wife, Renee.

Do you ever have things happen which remind you of something, or which set off a difficult or painful memory of the past?  I think the psychological term for this phenomenon is “trigger” - a word that is prominent in our National Conversation right now.  As I type this, it’s a rainy Monday afternoon.  And how can it be a rainy Monday without reminding me of one of the regrets of my life?

I was a sophomore at Harding University in the Fall of 1976.  And somehow, that small University was able to book one of the biggest musical acts in the nation at that time, The Carpenters, to come and play a show on the Harding campus.  Now, I realize that this is, once again, revealing not only my age, but also a bit of my strange [I prefer the term “eclectic”, if you don’t mind] tastes in music that make up that part of who I am.  At that point in my life, I liked, and knew the lyrics to, music that ranged from Jerry Jeff Walker to The Doobie Brothers to Peter Frampton, with The Carpenters falling somewhere on the “vanilla” section of that spectrum.

But, as a student working his way through school as a breakfast busboy at the campus cafeteria, the first thought I had when the announcement about The Carpenter’s concert was made was, “How much will it cost?”  I did not want to go alone, and the expense of a date night to this event seemed prohibitive, and unjustifiable.  So, I passed, and saved that money, and probably spent that evening, alone, studying in the Library.  Or whatever.  The point is, that night is lost to me, faded into the background of my life.

But not for my friends who went to the show.  Starting the next day, I got to hear the stories of the concert, and how wonderful it was to be there, right there, with Karen and Richard Carpenter, singing along with all their memorable hits, including “Rainy Days and Mondays”.  While listening to their joy-filled voices, I was reminded of an incident from much earlier in my childhood, when my Father bought my younger brother a silly toy that shot shaving cream out of a duck’s mouth.  Seeing my brother laughing and playing with the toy, my practical and prudent and thrifty Mother was aghast, and asked Dad why he had spent money on such a thing.  Dad’s response was, “Just look at how much fun he’s having!”  What a wise man.  And what a regret for me to have missed that amazing night of fun with The Carpenters.     

Many years later, I shared this story with Renee, who was a huge fan of The Carpenters.  And, despite being every bit as practical and prudent and thrifty as my Mother, Renee was aghast that I had passed on this never-to-be-repeated opportunity, for the sake of saving a few dollars.  She was unimpressed when I told her [the true story] that I had gotten to serve as a volunteer “roadie” for The Carpenters the afternoon of the concert, helping to set up the stage and carry their instruments and sound equipment into the concert arena.  “So what?  Why didn’t you demand a free ticket to the show as payment for your “roadie” work?  Why didn’t you just go to the show so you could tell me about it now?  So that you could re-live that experience and share it with me?” 

She was right.  And just a little over 6 years after the concert at Harding, Karen Carpenter was dead, leaving everyone who had attended that night with a special memory – one that I do not have.  All I have are regrets, and the lyrics:

                                                          Talkin’ to myself and feelin’ old

                                                          Sometimes I’d like to quit, nothin’ ever seems to fit

                                                          Hangin’ around, nothing to do but frown

                                                          Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

                                                          Funny, but it seems I always wind up here with you

                                                          Nice to know somebody loves me

                                                          Funny, but it seems that it’s the only thing to do

                                                          Run and find the one who loves me.

Now that Renee’s gone, I guess some of those lyrics don’t really fit me anymore, not like they used to.  There’s no one to run and find, there’s no one to wind up with.  And regrets are close to the surface on rainy days and Mondays.   

Funny, but it seems that regrets are usually over things that were not done rather than over things that were done.  Why didn’t I insist that we take that trip, go to that concert, eat at that restaurant, see that sight, visit that place, etc.  Or - I should have called the doctor; I could have taken her to the hospital.  Why didn’t I do…something, anything?  Maybe things would be different now.

Funny, but it seems that many regrets come from what I know now to be false – the idea, or the belief, that there will always be plenty of time for those things in the future.  The future, maybe a future you did not envision, can arrive at unbelievable speed, and you wake up finding that all your plans, all the things you wanted to do but put off until later, are now regrets.  

So, how was your rainy Monday?    

Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd