Regret makes life

Mistakes have been made, and I am an unwilling participant in the game it plays. No one truly means to make mistakes that cost larger than you know your mentality is worth. Death is a mishap, a variable no one marks as a prospect of decision making. Dead is one that I had looked up to, one who was a role model to what I had hoped would shape my future. Dead he lays on the floor of a house I do not own. Those in blue suits show up before long, asking questions I can’t answer. My parents arrive thanking the gods above, and blame slips through my slim chances. Devastation is the feeling that surrounds the cul de sac of which I reside. The once great man that ruled over our homes with feelings of kindness and charity has been lost to circumstances that are grim. I know this death was the results of a mistake, a slip of a hand that I know not on how to fix. Had the events of that day been delayed, by even a few minutes, death may not have plagued the poor souls of his family. The truth is, I had shot the poor man. Gun in hand, and blood on my mind. I had never intended to end this man's life, nor was death an agenda of mine. I had stolen my father’s pistol, a machine that had interested me highly. Having made up a plan to test out this gun, I had made my way to the empty house abandoned at least two years ago. Had I known he was going to walk in right when I pulled the trigger, he might have been here with us to this day. How do you explain to the people who loved this man that you were responsible for his death? His face as he fell, bullet in his head. It haunts my dreams and I cry with guilt that racks my very soul. I was a child then, and it was no fault of mine that he walked when he did. Nobody knew where I was or why he was there, but he was dead and I was not charged with anything. Known in school as a murderer, and slowly did I become alone. Every day do I think about my choices. The family members of his are kind, just as he was. They never blamed me for what had happened, but I still feel the resentment they try to hide. A dark feeling I cannot shake, knowing that I had ended the life of a father, a husband, a brother. It was an accident they say, but they know better. It's been years since. The time passed slowly. I passed it with effort to appease the feelings of guilt. Every weekend, I cleaned his grave. Every holiday, I made an attempt to help the family. Every day, I pray for his forgiveness. I ended up passing high school. I put my faith in gods I didn’t truly believe in. Praying to them to take my soul. I didn’t want to go to hell, nobody really does. We beg and plead for those up above to steal our sin while we live free. I was a mess, an inconsolable disaster in pieces. How do you make up for the trauma you cause innocent lives. It's been years later, my time in school is but a memory of awful times. I’ve grown from a boy to a man. A family of my own with children that bring the greatest joy. In memory of that man, I’ve become a teacher. To inspire those who need it, like how he inspired me. I visit his grave when I can, and tell him about the interesting things that go on. My wife encourages me to continue when days get low. My children love me, and they are my role models for the inner child in me that I had pushed down, Life had essentially gone on. We visit the family every holiday, and it seems like the children get along better than friends. As a friend, I walked one of the daughters down the aisle at her wedding. A petition was started, and the school was named after that man. A beautiful reminder that he was everyone's role model. I still pray for him, and I put everything in the name of preserving the man I had ended. And I still resent myself for what I did that darkened day. Every day is difficult, but I live with how I can create the next day. He taught me many lessons before he died. To be thankful for life. To appreciate all life for what it is. Years pass on faster. My family has become united. My daughter marries his grandson, their child is a golden beauty. My wife and I grow old together, and she shines with overflowing kindness. I had not always been kind to her, but she lifts me up when I can’t do it myself. When I can’t be kind, she forgives me. My youngest becomes a star basketball player, and a pride to have in our family. My mistakes will never fix themselves, but my family may lead a happy life that I can contribute to. Years are now gone. I have aged and I am dying. The end of my time comes faster than anticipated. My wife has been gone for a couple of years, and I mourn her every day. My children have gone on with their lives, as I have watched my family grow. My grandchildren still occasionally visit. I still think about what my youth had entailed. I mourn that man, but I also thank him for allowing me this path in life. I regret what I have done, but I would never change it. As awful as it seems, I am almost glad that man has given me his life. I will never truly atone for what I did, but I die in peace, knowing I will greet him in the next life.