The Collected Regrets of Clover

by Mikki Brammer

It frustrated me that society was so determined to quantify grief, as if time could erase the potency of love. Or, on the other hand, how it dictated that grief for someone you knew fleetingly should be equally as fleeting.

As the lights dimmed and the audience hushed, I closed my eyes and tuned into the ripples of anticipation that always came at the beginning of a live performance. That shared intimacy among strangers where, for just a moment, everyone laid aside the baggage of life to be completely present as one—a communal hopefulness.

“I mostly regret putting the needs of others ahead of my own. But as a woman, that’s what I was taught to do. Your husband, your children, your parents—their happiness all mattered more. You were always someone’s wife, or mother, or daughter before you were yourself. It’s like I didn’t live my life for myself, as myself. Like I wasted what I was given.”

“Don’t let the best parts of life pass you by because you’re too scared of the unknown.” One last wink. “Be cautiously reckless.”

“But the secret to a beautiful death is to live a beautiful life. Putting your heart out there. Letting it get broken. Taking chances. Making mistakes.”