Regrets don't leave. They weren't mosquito bites. They itch for ever.
Collection of Quotes from the novel 'The Midnight Library' by Matt Haig
My greatest regret.
   One of the biggest regrets I carry with me is tied to a simple invitation from my mother. She once invited me to spend a vacation with her in her hometown, a place filled with memories and stories of her younger days. It was an opportunity to connect with her on a deeper level, to see the world through her eyes, and to create lasting memories together.
   But life has a way of getting in the way of such moments. Back then, when I truly wanted to spend time with her, we couldnât afford to go. The lack of budget was a constant barrier, a reminder of the sacrifices we had to make just to get by. So, I had to decline her invitation, thinking that there would always be another chance, another time when things would align perfectly.
   As time passed, circumstances changed. I eventually found myself with a stable job and the financial means to travel, but the situation had flipped. Work responsibilities took over, and finding the time to be with my mother became a challenge. The freedom that comes with financial stability came at the cost of precious timeâtime that I could have spent with her, listening to her stories, and exploring the places that shaped her.
   She decided to go by herself to her hometown. After a week or two, she came home, and everything seemed fineâuntil the unthinkable happened. My mother was admitted to the hospital. The news hit me hard, and all the excuses I had madeâwork, time, obligationsâsuddenly felt trivial. I rushed to be by her side, and after three days of uncertainty, she was finally discharged. We were overjoyed to see her back home, hoping that everything would be okay and that she was on the road to recovery.
   The next day was a Saturday, and I was at the office, celebrating the company's anniversary. It was a festive occasion, but in the back of my mind, I was still thinking about my mother. She was at church that day, giving a marriage seminarâa task she loved and cherished. Everything seemed fine, and I felt a sense of relief that she was well enough to continue her normal activities.
   However, later that evening, after the celebration at work, I returned home only to be met with worried faces. My sibling told me that our mother had been complaining of severe stomach pain. We initially thought it was something that could be soothed with a simple massage, hoping it would pass like before. But this time, the pain didnât subside, and to our growing concern, she asked to be taken back to the hospitalâagain.
   In that moment, a wave of dread washed over me. The memories of the past few days, of her first hospitalization and the fragile hope we clung to, came rushing back. Despite my prayers and wishes, I couldnât shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. All the things I had put off, the moments I could have spent with her, felt like lost time that I would never get back. I realized then that life doesnât always give us second chances, and the moments we take for granted could be the ones we regret the most.
   And then, the day that would change everything arrived. It was May 24, 2018, at 6:20 in the morning when my mother passed away. The weight of that moment, of losing her, of knowing that all those missed opportunities were gone forever, is something I carry with me every day. The regret is not just about the missed vacation, but about all the times I could have been there for her and wasnât. Itâs a reminder that time is precious and fleeting, and that we should never take the presence of our loved ones for granted.
Dear Mama,
   I miss you every day. Not a moment goes by without thinking of you and the love you gave so freely. I wish I could turn back time, to share more laughs, more stories, and more moments with you. Thank you for everything you've done for me, for the wisdom you shared, and for the endless love you showed. I carry you in my heart always, and I hope you're watching over us, smiling.
I love you, Mama.
Until we meet again.
