He never expected much

 Death and regret seem to be two dependent words, don’t they? Whenever an ominous gray cloud envelops my mind, and rakes my thoughts onto the tingling notion of death and what lies beyond it, I'm left with involuntary shudders that rattle every nerve of my body. As thoughts of death overpower all feelings of rationality, I can’t help but wonder, what is it that I will regret when I have no time left to rectify my wrongs? When my clock will run out, what is it for which I will wish I had just a few more seconds? When the chapter of my life closes, what parts will I wish to whiten out? These questions often sweep through my overwhelmed mind, rendering me anxious as I grapple with the acceptance of the fact that the sands of time keep trickling through the crevices between my fingertips. 

These notions of mine were swiftly overturned when I read the masterpiece that is better known as, He Never Expected Much. Written by Thomas Hardy, this poem is an antithesis of the traditional thoughts that course through one’s mind as they lie on their deathbed. 

"I do not promise overmuch, 

Child; overmuch; 

Just neutral-tinted haps and such," 

You said to minds like mine. 

Wise warning for your credit's sake! 

Which I for one failed not to take, 

And hence could stem such strain and ache 

As each year might assign.

These lines from the poem outline a conversation between the world and the speaker, wherein the world converses with the speaker and conveys the true essence of life to him. These lines encapsulate the sentiment of the speaker, as he never expected that ‘life would all be fair’. Instead, ever since his childhood, the speaker believed that life was unjust and dreary. Thus, by never having high expectations from the rose of his life, the speaker was never disappointed by the mundane nature of life and all the obstacles which were cast in his path. By adopting this peculiar paradigm, the speaker ensures that he will never face any regrets in life, and thus solidifies the peace he will feel during his final movements, rather than the typical session of self ponderment that causes one’s contrition. 

In all, it is a marvelous poem that has widened my horizons and made me associate one’s final moments with emotions far more complex than mere regret. Now, when I contemplate my very own prologue, my imagination stretches far beyond the things that my heart will long and ache for.