Four years ago I met Richard. I was sitting in the Cardiac Catheter Lab drawing stars on my wrist and hands. Richard, a cardiologist, looked at me and asked me if any were tattooed. I said one was and he gave me a funny look. I kept on drawing and he kept asking me questions. Cardiac Cath Lab isn’t the most riveting place for a radiographer to be, especially one already bored with her job, but Richard’s questions became something I looked forward to. Whenever Richard was consulting, he entertained me. He asked questions about myself, my writing, my love life. He read my blog, bought me hot chocolate, engaged me in conversation from the meaningful to the absurd. He was funny, charming, inappropriate and intimidatingly intelligent. Richard was honest about the amount he loved his children and disliked his wife, but he never talked much about himself. Richard made me feel interesting and different. I suppose that’s how people with charisma affect you.
Not everyone liked Richard. He didn’t hide his many affairs or his love of younger women. Some thought he was sleazy or unprofessional, others were sour he gave them less attention. But I always liked him and figured I could handle myself if he ever tried to get too close.
After resigning from my job he tried to do just that. I guess I was naive thinking he would never try and start something sexual with me and I felt like a fool for claiming he never would. I told Richard not to cross the line and when he eventually did I cut all contact. I felt like he disrespected me, my relationship with my boyfriend and didn’t value our friendship. To be clear, Richard never did anything wrong. He just sent me some text messages I found confronting. I decided that for Richard to show a sexual interest in me meant our two year friendship was just an elaborate ploy to get into my pants. I never once considered that maybe he’d never said anything before because he was scared to lose me.
After I came back from travelling I changed my number and ceased all contact with Richard. I heard from friends that he asked after me, that he wanted to get back in touch just as friends and that he was sorry. I refused to listen. But I missed his company, his warmth and the way he challenged my pre-conceived ideas. I always thought some day we would get back in touch, but every time I thought about actually doing so I worried what others would think.
Richard died unexpectedly this week. He was in his forties. I was thinking about him just hours before I heard the news. Obviously I was devastated for his children and family, but I also felt the biggest wave of regret wash over me. I’d left everything unsaid. I hadn’t given him a chance to apologise and someone I thought I had lost temporarily was now gone forever. I took human life for granted, which was ridiculous considering where we met.
I’m weeks shy of my 27th birthday and I’ve learnt my first big life lesson, and that’s that we can’t guarantee there will be a “some day in the future”. There are some misunderstandings that can’t be settled immediately, but I had years to tell Richard I forgave him and I missed him. Perhaps we could never have been friends again, but at least nothing would have been unsaid. Richard made me feel valued and happy in so many ways and in response to his mistake (which was very much a part of his nature) I was cold and unforgiving. Richard once told me I had integrity. I think I let him down a little on that one.
I believe saying you have no regrets in life is obnoxious. Instead, I try to acknowledge these regrets and learn from my mistakes. Since hearing of Richard’s death I’ve made an attempt to contact two people that things didn’t end well with. One was happy to hear from me, I doubt the other will respond. But whether they respond or not is not the point.
I’ve learnt a lot this past week. I’ve learnt that being hard isn’t always better than being vulnerable. That changing your mind doesn’t have to be an admission of failure. And that assuming you know what other people think is a sure fire way have regrets.
I’m sorry, Richard. Rest in peace.
