Watching her lay there almost lifeless was something I was not prepared for. It had been years since I had seen her. Her chest barely moved and she had no color. I started to go through my memories of her. She wasn’t a warm woman. She didn’t really hug me and she was hyper critical but I still wanted her approval. Then the regrets started to come. Why hadn’t I asked her about her life? Why hadn’t I asked her about her experience during the war? Her experience through the dust bowl? All these questions and more came flooding into my mind at this moment. It felt stupid. Who thinks about things like this when someone is dying? Or does everyone think about this?