Dear readers,
Today, I’m veering off topic. I’m not going to talk about the stock market because there’s something deeper on my mind. It’s the thought of family, regrets, and missed chances.
Please bear with me for today… I need to vent. I’ll get back to the stock market tomorrow.
Early-morning phone calls are usually bad news. So, when my home phone rang at 5:17 a.m. on July 25 several years ago, I knew my father had passed away.
I meant to call him the night before. I hadn’t spoken to Dad for a few weeks. My family had been on vacation in Spain. And, though we had been back for a few days, I just simply hadn’t had the time to call my dad.
The night before he passed away, I had this incredible urge to call him. Something inside me kept saying, “Call your father.” But I kept putting it off.
I was going to call him at 7:00 p.m., but we were just sitting down for dinner.
I was going to call him at 8:00 p.m., but the boys needed help with their homework.
I was going to call him at 9:00 p.m., but I needed to get everything lined up and ready to go for the next day.
By 10:00 p.m., it was just too late. “Dad’s probably in bed.” I said to myself. So, despite the overwhelming pressure from my subconscious mind, I decided, “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
I didn’t get the chance.
Instead, my phone rang early the next morning. It was a police officer who had responded to my mother’s 911 call. “Your father is non-responsive,” she said, “I’ll stay with your mother until you get here.”
Sunday was Dad’s birthday. He would have been 81. He was on my mind all day.
For some reason, as my family sat down for Sunday night dinner, my youngest son – now 16 years old – decided to get philosophical. He asked everyone at the table, “If you could relive any day of your life over, what day would it be and what would you do differently?”
My father-in-law considered the day he chose one business opportunity over another. But he decided he wouldn’t change a thing, because his choice gave him the life and experience he now has. He wouldn’t change any day.
My oldest son said he wished he could redo the day he had the chance to knock in the winning run at a baseball showcase at the University of San Diego last summer. He was at bat with a full count. His team was down 4-3 with two outs in the final inning, and had runners at second and third base. A single would have scored them both.
He was thinking “fast-ball” all the way. And that’s exactly what was thrown to him. But he hesitated. He didn’t swing, and was called out looking.
“I wish I would have swung,” Grant said.
I then turned the question around to my youngest son who had asked the question in the first place, “Carson,” I said, “what day would you change?”
“I don’t know if I would change any day,” he responded, “I feel pretty good about the choices I’ve made.”
So, I had to poke at him a bit, “What about Alana?” I asked, “Don’t you wish you would have asked her out on a date last year when you had the chance? Don’t you wish you could redo that?”
He blushed, and smiled the sort of smile that is reserved for second sons, “Yeah. I guess I would redo that day,” he admitted.
“What about you, Dad?” Carson asked, “What day would you relive?”
“July 24, 2013,” I said instantly.
“I don’t have many regrets in life, boys,” I said to my sons. “I wouldn’t change any of the decisions I’ve made or the things that I have done because they have made me who I am today, and they’ve provided for the lives we lead.”
“But,” I continued, “if I could have one day to relive, or even just 10 minutes just to make up for something I could have done, then I would have called my father the night before he died.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything for him,” I said. “He had been sick for years. We knew he was on borrowed time. Nothing was going to change that. But it would have changed things for me.”
“My dad knew how I felt about him,” I continued, “He knew how much I appreciated his influence on my life. But I would have loved the chance to tell him how I felt just one more time. And I had the chance to do that the night before he died. But I let that chance slip away. I let other things get in the way.
“So, I’m living with the guilt of knowing – at least subconsciously – that I had the chance to say goodbye. I had the chance to maybe brighten his life a bit in his final moments.”
“Don’t let that happen to you,” I said. “Trust your instincts, and act on your impulses. Live your lives so that you don’t have any regrets. Make sure the people you love know exactly how you feel about them.”
“Most of all,” I continued, “call your father often.”
“You don’t have to wait for Father’s Day.”
Best regards and good trading,
Jeff Clark