Every now and then, I hear someone ask this question: If you could talk to any person, living or dead, who would you choose?

With so many choices that come to mind, that's a hard question to answer. It gets even harder if we include those who have passed away.Since I like "live conversations," the livelier the better, I thought at first I would skip that option if I had to answer the question.Yet, here I am, knowing if I could talk with anyone, I long to talk to my mother. That choice was taken away from me years ago when she died, and even before that because Alzheimer's took the ability to talk away from her.With the passing years, one would think my longing to talk with my mother would ease over time. That hasn't proven to be true. More than ever, I wish I could sit once more for an in-depth conversation with my mother.There are things I so wish I could tell her.I wish I could tell her I realize how I overlooked her strengths.I never told her how much I admired her strength in holding down two jobs to support her two children after my parents divorced.I never told her how much I appreciated all she did for us without complaint.Her life after the divorce (without any support money from my father) must have been difficult, both physically and financially.To pay rent and provide for her two children, mom worked in a factory during the day and as a waitress at night. That must have been physically draining. But she never complained.Like many mothers, she "did for her kids," not for herself. She made sure my brother and I had new clothes for Easter. She bought nothing for herself. What money she had was spent on her kids.Did I ever thank her for that sacrifice? No, not ever.I think young kids see the world only through their eyes. They don't see the sacrifices of parents. They just assume it's what parents do and don't give it much thought.That reflection comes later, much later. When we look back in time, we realize things we didn't see when we were younger.There was so much I could admire about my mother. I don't think I ever told her that, except to tell her how nice she looked.My mom always looked like June Cleaver, even when she cooked and cleaned. She always looked like she was ready for TV.There is so much I don't know about the woman who gave birth to me and raised me.I don't know her hopes or her dreams. When I was younger, I was too naive to even know that mothers had hopes and dreams. Call it the self-centeredness of a child.I talk with many people whose parents have passed on and they tell me they feel the same way I do - they wish they knew more of their parents' stories.Why is it we all too often wait until it's too late to know our parents' histories?I'm a writer. I've devoted my life to telling other people's stories. Don't you think I would have wanted to tell my mother's story? It was too late when I realized all I didn't know.Maybe that's fairly common. I have a friend who was also raised by a single mother. She and her mother talked in-depth on a regular basis about her mother's life. Yet, when her mom passed away, my friend felt the same way I do - there is so much more she wished she could know.When I moved away from home, my mother established the pattern of telephoning early every Saturday morning. True to her own habits, she believed every woman needed to be out of bed early in the morning.I hate to admit there were times when I dreaded hearing the phone ring early in the morning. If I got to bed late at night, I would have appreciated a bit more sleep.But inevitably, the phone would ring and my mother's first question was: Are you up and dressed. I would say sure, I'm making coffee, then stumble over to the coffeepot so I wouldn't be lying.The very first sign of my mother's decline was when she stopped calling. When I ask her why she didn't call, she didn't tell me the frightening truth: She forgot how to make phone calls.People who fall victim to Alzheimer's are good at hiding what's happening to them, at least at the beginning.So I sit here with plenty of regret.When I was in the grocery store this week I heard a surly teenager attacking her mother. I heard the teenager tell her mom: "You don't know anything."I wanted to tell the teenager she was wrong. She's the one who doesn't know everything, not her mom. But she'll figure that out someday.I'm smarter now about not waiting to tell my family things I want to say. But I know that no matter how much I tell them, there will come a time when I'm gone that they'll want to know more.If you're lucky enough to be able to still talk with your mother, I hope you appreciate the gift you have.Contact Pattie Mihalik at

newsgirl@comcast.net.