In 1945, a movie entitled "Going My Way" swept the awards table with seven Oscars, two of which went to Bing Crosby and Barry Fitzgerald.

The latter won "Best Supporting Actor" for his portrayal of Father Fitzgibbon, the elderly, curmudgeonly and stereotypically Irish pastor of a run-down inner-city church in New York.

Der Bingle earned his statuette as Father Charles Francis Patrick (Chuck) O'Malley, sent by the local bishop to save St. Dominic's from foreclosure, demolition or both.

Readers longer in the tooth will either remember that flick fondly or should have their mediastina (so, look it up!) checked for the presence of a heart. (DVDs, by the way, can be bought through Amazon or rented at Blockbuster by youngsters or you older nostalgia buffs.)

In one of the more moving scenes in Moviedom history, the frail old man tearfully bade farewell to the curate he had come to love with the wrenching words, "I'm sure that the way to say what I'd like to say will occur to me after you've gone."

Thus, he dramatically spotlighted one of the worst scourges of humanity - the "shoodaseds."

Who among us, except for a few self-worshipping liars, has not left a meeting, a confrontation, an opportunity, a relationship, or any number of happenstances without saying to him/herself, "Self, why didn't you say (fill in the thises and thats)?"

Aside: My late Mother, true to her own Hibernian heritage, solved the problem by mentally editing her misspeakings and thereafter recounting them as verbatim facts - an intriguing compromise between blarney and BS.

Sometimes, unspoken words, brilliant rebuttals, remedial phrases or appropriate apologies can be and are, as they should, voiced at a later date, following sober reflection.

Too often it's too late to do so, such as when the Grim Reaper intervenes, or when further contact is impractical, impossible or otherwise undoable.

These situations, while unfortunate, are not nearly as bad as miscommunications that could have been promptly resolved, rather than permanently regretted.

It's difficult to think of a once-significant someone in one's life who has died or gone hopelessly out of touch without recalling missed opportunities to voice one or more of the following palliatives - none of which cost more than a brief nibble of crow:

"I'm sorry," or "let's forget about it," or "you're great," or " we should talk about it," or "tell me what can I do to help," or "help me to understand that, or " I know how you feel," or "I'm sorry you feel that way," or "let me think about it," or "I could be wrong," or "I forgive you."

Long-term grudges and longer-term remorse grow out of such verbal omissions, often inspired by pride, stubbornness, anger, resentment, envy, prejudice, or just a temporary attack of orneriness.

It's much easier, but infinitely less effective, to wait for the "other party" to make the first move toward reconciliation, but both sides share equally in the ultimate reward.

Lifelong love affairs and formerly firm friendships are often casualties of the unspoken words of kindness, empathy and genuine caring.

Couples committed to each other "for the duration" are not long in learning that loving and hating are occasionally cohabiting emotions, but not opposite ones.

To love others means to deeply care about them; its negative counterpart is indifference about their well-being.

To hate, on the other hand, means to intensively dislike, an occupational hazard which can temporarily afflict the most dedicated of lovers, cohesive of families and intimate of friends from time to time.

Loving (i.e., caring about) others is not an insulation against hurting or offending them, but a few soft and timely words can always mitigate, if not totally avoid, prolonged unpleasantness, whether in the boudoir, workplace, playground or checkout line.

If bad feelings can't be smoothed over, by reason of death or other insuperable obstacles, don't sweat it - but don't allow the same thing to happen again, either.

One of this column's frequently repeated quotations is that of American poet/pacifist John Greenleaf Whittier, who wrote: "For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been.'"

"Shoodaseds" are a pale substitute for saying the right thing in the first place, but whenever time and circumstances permit, they should be plugged into the earliest possible future contact.

Doing so can convert sadness to sagacity.

Meanwhile, if you have some shoodaseds hanging in the air or strewn on the trail behind you, time's a wastin'!