I remember, I regret, I grew

CW: This story contains themes and/or references to physical violence, self-harm, and trauma.

I remember on my fourth birthday, I heard the first gunshot. What I didn’t know then was that there would be four more. My mother’s arms caressed my back as I, unaware, dug into my piece of cake. I didn’t notice the arguing, the slamming walls, or the yelling. I didn’t notice until my father slammed our door shut, and I never saw him again. As he left, my mother turned on the television to drown out her tears. It was some stupid true crime show. Some guy getting murdered - the case that followed. The clip of the gun. The first gunshot.

I remember when I was fifteen, I heard the second gunshot. “Jonathon,” Andrea, my lover, had called out. “Jonathon.” But I didn’t look back, I left her, standing in the rain, letting her get drenched in it. We were supposed to get married, that’s what she always told me. But it was a lie, that’s why she cheated. Walking home from the breakup, a gunshot rang through the dark. I never knew who it hit, just saw a limp body across the wet pavement.

I remember when I was twenty-eight, I heard the third gunshot. Ruby awoke from her hospital bed. She buried herself in my arms as I comforted her. “It’s okay,” I kept on repeating the words to her, hoping that I would believe it as well. Twins. We were so excited, exhilarated, and then, then everything was lost. The hospital was near a gun range, but only one shot was audible. And it rang once before my screams muffled the rest.

I remember when I was fifty-eight, I heard the fourth gunshot. I was only twelve minutes late for my job. Only twelve minutes were enough for my boss. My work friends all wished me farewell, and I left the building, defeated and sullen. I hardly noticed the man in the hoodie rushing past me until the gun was pressed to another man's head. My friend's head. The police came, evacuated everyone, and apprehended the criminal. This time, unlike the second gunshot this time I knew exactly who was killed.

I remember when I was seventy-three, I heard my last gunshot. My wife had been sick for weeks, and I was resting by her bedside. She begged me to hold on, hold on tight, as she knew her end was near. So I did. I held her tight until I heard no breathing, no more. A slow but steady pain reached my heart, a gunshot like no other, until it overcame me, pulled me in. Welcomed me. The heart attack took me away. The last gunshot went straight to my heart.

In my total lifetime, I have heard five gunshots. Each one of these gunshots was at a pivotal moment of my life. Moments that impacted my life greatly.

The moment my father left, and my first heartbreak, accompanied by the first two gunshots, taught me independence and the ability to let things go.

The third gunshot taught me how to love, how to share loss with someone else. That's something my mother and I were never able to do.

The fourth gunshot taught me absolutely nothing. It was a reminder that sometimes that's the way life is, and there's nothing I can do about it.

The fifth gunshot, the only one not audible, taught me that the end is truly the end. And that's okay.

I remember that.

I regret that, when I was eleven, I made my first cut. My mother was breaking down, unable to keep her head up, but I shouted and shouted and shouted. Shouted at her that it was all her fault my father had left, that she had ruined my life.

I regret that, when I was twenty-three, I made my second cut. It was supposed to be one job, one job, and it would all be over. That's not how it ended. The gun was never loaded. I never heard a gunshot, but it was always pressed against someone's temple. It always caused another person's scream.

I regret that, when I was forty-two, I made my third cut. I didn't mean to start the argument. I didn't know my betrayal would lead to thirty-seven years of friendship broken. I didn't understand what I had done to him. To my friend. How badly did I hurt him?

I regret that when I was fifty-two, I made my final cut. My daughter had yelled at me like I had yelled at my mother. I told her to run away, to leave if she hated me so much. And she did. All the way until the car crashed into another, and she couldn't run anymore.

In my total lifetime, I have made four cuts. Each one of these cuts was a pivotal moment in my life.

The first one taught me to respect my mother, to realize I hurt her just as she hurt me. I was never able to reestablish a connection after that, even if our previous one was already very distant.

The second cut taught me honor, taught me right from wrong. Taught me that in times of panic and no avail, I should not let myself stray from the path. I should stay strong.

The third cut taught me the importance of friendship. Taught me how I should value and care for it. Taught me that with friendship comes loyalty, and when that loyalty is ruined, comes the end.

The final cut taught me how to establish a connection. Something I needed to learn how to do. Something after the accident, my daughter was able to help me get better at. Help me become a better person. I regret not learning sooner.

I regret that.

My life was long, filled with love, hardship, and betrayal.

My life was filled with moments I remember and moments I regret. My life was filled with moments I can still look back on and grow from. I remembered, I regretted, and I grew.