While waiting for surgery to plate three of his broken ribs, Tony speculates, “If only.”
In the pause following, he adds that it's probably pointless to wonder: if only he hadn't rode his bike that day; if only he'd gone on a different path; if only, if only, if only.
Yes, we have to go forward, I agree, but I admit to him that I dwell in the "if only" state too. I still "If only" we hadn't bought a house in the neighborhood where our daughter met her future husband who turned into the difficult ex-husband.
He reminds me "But then we wouldn't have had our (precious) grandchildren."
"We still might have," but that statement is impossible to sort out, to reconcile or find resolution in such a complication.
Tony is tired and he doesn't push the conversation. I do a mental hand throwing into the air, because I have no answers to that metaphysical conundrum. It's right up there with the other mysteries of the universe: If God was the beginning, then who created God? Is there extraterrestrial life? If the creation story is fact, how did the creators put animals on the earth?
So we will live with the seemingly unimportant choices we make: whether we take a bike ride or not. Once the trajectory of choice is in place, it is impossible to take back, and we are left swimming in a whirlpool wondering "If only."
I'm trying to figure out if it's possible to live without ever wondering "If only?" And what effect would it have on my life if I could let go of "If only."
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