I was a young immature 16 year old when i was told my father would never come home from the hospital. That his condition was that bad. So in my immature way I started coping with that, preparing myself for the inevitable. It was hard and I did it poorly. then after over a year of him being stuck in a hospital bed. One of my uncles who had become the head of cardiology at a teaching college, that really was at the leading edge of research on those conditions at the time. Said he felt they had a surgeon that could help him. They did.

Now he was home. I loved him with my whole heart and being. But I was even more angry than ever. I had spent over a year of my short life, preparing and coping with his death and here he was ALIVE! I knew I should be joyous and deep down I was. Yet I could not get over the resentment. 
Resentment of family not being truthful. Resentment for having to accept his death. 
Resentment for the change in the dynamics of our home.

This all eventually came to a head. 
He felt I wished he was dead. 
I told him it would have been easier than this, but NO. never did I wish or want that. 
He only seemed to hear the easier part. A huge riff began to separate us. it took years to begin to rebuild, hell it took years before we had the conversation above. 
regrets? I have more than my fair share. nearly all are solely my responsibility