I Dreamt it was My Funeral

I dreamt it was my funeral. I hid in the church and watched.

There was a sadness in the air. Tears in many eyes and a blankness in others.

I was also saddened as I tried to guess the memories I left behind.

To my wife.
To my children.To my friends and relatives.
To my colleagues.
To my town and country.
To society.

And then I thought,
What if?
What if, this and that, with all I came in contact?
What if to each their own gift?
What if I had lived giving more of myself?
What if I had fought the battles that should have been fought?
What if I had shared my gifts and talents with others?

Then perhaps this day and in this church, my parting gift to those in sadness, to those with tears and to those in blankness, would have been a bit of joy, of light, of wisdom, of selflessness, of love.

As I stood there, hiding, I realized regrets are the saddest memory one could have. A waste of time, of meaning, of life.

Such a waste ... and as with all waste, it is lost amid our mindlessness and can never be recovered.

I woke up, and here I am.