Unmasked regret

I slipped the mask off and drew close to her. Somewhere, a nurse was caring for another patient, confident that I’d understood the rules. Somewhere, a manager floated the corridors and would blame the nurse for this transgression. Somewhere, an inspector reviews reports and prepares to admonish them all. But here, in this room, here those rules are like thin air. I rested my cheek on hers. She was warm, which scared me. Was this right? Meanwhile she lay there thinking... maybe... feeling... probably... hearing... hopefully. I couldn’t know, but I spoke, said whatever came out my mouth, but not what came to mind. Not ‘goodbye, I know you’re passing’. I wish I did. I’m crying. But you want to know what it was like for me then, not now. How can I relive that then, though, as it happened, without the lens of ‘now’? How can that past mean much except regret... Don’t get me wrong, sister, I am so grateful for those private moments. I know the jealousy thousands would feel at knowing I had them. I know I should be more grateful, but they weren’t perfect. So they’ll linger, and I’ll revisit the stories and my memories again and again. You’ll hear my stories again and again. You’ll hear them jumble and change. You’ll wonder what was then and what is new, fabricated - and so will I.

My regret’s broader than those moments, for which I’m thankful, I promise. I regret not knowing. Maybe if I knew she wouldn’t be scared, I would be honest. Maybe I could have mustered a goodbye rather than an update and a kiss.

Somewhere a nurse didn’t know I’d lowered my mask and lay my head on hers, kissed her cheek twice. Somewhere an official would lament my transgression. Inside, I lament the lost months before, when things could have been different, but for our leaders. We’re all living it now. We’ve all got our 2020 regrets. What are theirs?