Top Five Regrets of the Dying: Through writing, explore your personal relationship to each theme: #1) I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

For the most part, I truly don't feel as though I've let this happen. I fought against my mother's skepticism and negativity when I worked in the national parks during my college summers. I ventured out on my own to live in Colorado and left my family even further behind when I went to California. When I became pregnant with Michelle as a single woman, I opted to follow my heart and give birth to her no matter what my parents' expectations were. When my husband and I were young parents, we moved 60 miles away from Los Angeles and when I couldn't find a decent job in our new location, I managed to wangle a part-time consultant position with my old company so that I could stay employed. And when times got tough and my husband and I both lost our jobs in California, we left everything that was comfortable and familiar behind us and moved to a different part of the country, despite plenty of people telling us they thought we were making a mistake.

In making all these decisions, I feel that I remained true to myself for most of my life. But I can recall one time when I acquiesced and gave up my plans to go along with others' expectations. I always liked to write, and when I was in high school I decided I wanted to major in journalism in college. I did some research and discovered that the University of Missouri had a top-notch and highly-recognized journalism school. My family was traveling to New Mexico for a summer vacation, and I talked my parents into stopping in Columbia, Missouri and visiting the school. After a tour, I was impressed and decided that's where I wanted to go to college. I think my parents could probably have afforded the out-of-state tuition, but I also think it was more than what they had planned on paying for my college education, besides the fact that it was far away and my mother in particular found that disconcerting. My mom struck a deal with me. If I would go to a college in Michigan for the first two years, I could transfer to the University of Missouri in my junior year if I still wanted to go there. What could I say? My parents were paying for my college education and I could tell that's what they wanted me to do.

Well, after two years at Michigan State I had made friends there, I had a boyfriend, and the last thing I wanted to do was to transfer out of state. I loved MSU and wouldn't have given up those four years for anything, but Michigan State's journalism classes were disappointing, and I floundered around deciding on a major, finally settling on psychology and never really using my degree in any kind of a job.

It blows my mind to think about what might have happened if I had insisted on going to school in Missouri and my parents had eventually given in. Would I have liked it there? I might have had an entirely different career. I would never have met many of the people in my life who are so important to me. Following that line of thinking, I wouldn't have known Sue and might never have moved to California or met my husband. Our daughters Michelle and Julie wouldn't exist. I might be living in Kansas City, working for the local newspaper, with three sons rather than daughters!

It's mind-boggling to think about how that one decision completely changed the outcome of my life. But I'm a true believer that things happen for a reason, and I'm 100% sure that I have no regrets and I'm happy with my life the way it is.

Don't think too hard... Go with the first memory that comes to mind. The word is: TOUCH.

How sad is it that my first thought when I saw the word "touch" was a feeling of creepiness due to the Penn State scandal? A word that should evoke feelings of caring and gentleness can instead conjure up feelings of uneasiness and suspicions of ulterior motives due to all the recent news stories about people who prey upon children.

I pushed those feelings out of my mind and went instead with the secondary good feelings that the word "touch" evokes. Lately my mother has been hospitalized with some serious health issues. Since I'm her primary caregiver, I've been spending a lot of time at the hospital and making important decisions about her care. Seeing her in such a vulnerable and helpless position terrifies me. It's a highly stressful time, in between trying to juggle my daily work life and expecting to help in the delivery of my first grandchild in a matter of days. I want so much to be free to feel only the joy of the childbirth, without the other burdens that are on my mind right now. I can't concentrate on anything lately and I'm highly agitated.

In the midst of all this, I was truly touched by two incidents of touch. A couple nights ago, after I had spent a long evening with my mother in the hospital, I came home both mentally weary and physically exhausted and crawled into bed where my husband was already sleeping. He turned over and hugged me for a long time. He had no other expectations and didn't say a word, he just simply laid there and held me to let me know that he cared. It was the sweetest feeling in the world, and the best therapy I could have wished for at that moment.

The second incident took place at the hospital. My poor 88-year-old mother had been laying for three days in a hospital bed with a tube down her nose into her stomach, her arms restrained so she wouldn't mess with the tube, and nothing to eat or drink. She could only lay on her back due to the restraints. She was completely miserable, and I had noticed that her lips looked very parched and dry, so I brought in some vaseline to use on them. As I was applying it to her lips, she was so grateful. Over and over she thanked me. I sit here with tears running down my face as I think about it. It was such a simple thing for me to do, but it meant the world to someone who was in absolute misery. It took me back to the time that I did the same thing for my dad as he lay dying in the hospital, only in his case he could not express his appreciation. I'll never forget the bittersweet poignancy of either of those moments.

What would your sixteen-year-old self say if she/he could see you now?

What’s up with the hairdo? I should have kept it long and straight.

What cool kids I have!

My husband is nuts (mostly in a good way)!

What a bummer that I’m working 9-5 in a job I don’t care too much for.

What happened to my dream of being independently wealthy?

I’m so glad I’m still in touch with my friends Marilyn, Joy, Randy, Denise and Teri. I’d hate to lose them! But where are Lynn and Kathy? And what the heck is Facebook?

What’s up with the saggy knees?

I finally got a convertible!

I’m glad to see I’m still riding my bike. I always did like to ride.

How in the world did I end up in Georgia?

My mom has turned into my Grandma!

What’s up with the wrinkly neck? Heck,  I have turned into my Grandma!

I’m expecting my first grandchild? Now I’m REALLY old!

I’m surprised that I don’t read more books. I always enjoyed reading. But I’m happy that I’m still writing.

How come I’m not living on a lake with a boat? I always wanted to do that.

I’m so glad I still like the outdoors, camping and hiking. I’d hate to lose those loves.

What’s up with the extra 15 pounds?

It's hard to believe that my dad is really gone. I can't imagine life without him.

Do I really like that music I have playing in my car, and who is Adele?

I’m so proud of myself—I’m 58 years old and can still turn a cartwheel!

What secret are you keeping?

I can't think of any secrets I'm keeping for myself, but I am keeping two secrets for others. A co-worker entrusted me with a secret regarding a situation with her son, and a neighbor confided a secret regarding her husband's health issues. Both asked me not to tell anyone else, and I won't give any more details here in case someone tracks me down through my blog. In both cases, I'm very honored that they chose to confide in me and that they consider their secrets safe with me. I wouldn't dream of betraying them.

I take being asked to keep a secret seriously, and it's not hard for me to do. I know others who couldn't keep secrets if their lives depended on it, and I've seen the repercussions. I don't understand people who love to divulge news that isn't their own; I guess it's for that momentary satisfaction of being in the spotlight and commanding the center of attention.

However, I don't think I'd be able to keep a secret if it was harmful for someone else not to know about it. Luckily, I can't recall a time that I've ever been in that position.

Describe a time when you were SHOCKED.

It was a December day and I was in the 9th grade, staying after school with my good friend Marilyn to work on a Home Ec project. I remember we were making skirts on the sewing machines, and I had gotten behind on mine so I was trying to catch up. My mom had agreed to pick us up when we were finished and give Marilyn a ride home.

It was just starting to get dark outside when we pulled into her neighborhood, and we were greeted by the eerie sight of many flashing emergency lights and a lot of commotion going on at a nearby construction site. We briefly checked out the scene as we drove by, but really couldn't see much except several emergency vehicles on hand. Marilyn offhandedly remarked that her dad was working at that site, and the three of us wondered what was happening. We pulled into her driveway and she got out and waved goodbye. Little did any of us suspect that upon opening her front door, she was about to enter a scene of tragic chaos.

After getting home and eating dinner, I stretched out on my bed with the radio on (CKLW was my station of choice in those days) and began to do my Latin homework. I struggled with it for awhile, then decided to call Marilyn, who was also in my class, to collaborate. Her mother answered the phone, and when I asked to speak to my friend, she told me that Marilyn was unable to talk right then; that her father had died that afternoon. My mind began whirling in shock and disbelief. I knew Jack fairly well and liked him, he always talked and joked with us kids. It was all I could do to stammer "OK, thank you" as I hung up. I turned to my mom and began to cry; she hugged and comforted me as best as she could.

After awhile I returned to my bedroom, staring numbly at the school books still open on my bed. The radio was still playing and the news came on. That's when I heard the horrific news that Jack had been crushed to death when the underground construction site he was working at had caved in on top of him. I had never dealt with death before in my 14 years and this was a devastating way to hear that grim news, delivered so impersonally and matter-of-factly by a news commentator. I called for my mom and I remember she laid down on the bed and cried with me.

Somehow, I went to school the next day. Our Latin teacher, knowing that Marilyn and I were friends, asked me why she wasn't in class. I vividly remember feeling very uncomfortable and on the verge of tears when I answered in front of the whole class that her father had died the night before. After class, the teacher walked with me down the hall and asked me about what had happened. Later I found out that she wrote Marilyn a compassionate letter, telling how her own father had also died suddenly when she was a teenager.

I recall standing in the gym at lunch time and talking with a group of girls about the tragedy. One of the things my mother had said to comfort me was that Jack had probably not suffered because the accident most likely had happened very quickly. I repeated it to this group of girls and one of them scoffed at me, saying, "Of course he suffered, he slowly suffocated to death!" My mind immediately went into another tailspin, imagining how he probably died thinking about his family, wondering how they would get along without him, thinking about not being able to see his four kids grow up. I went home sick that afternoon and I wasn't faking it--I was literally sick at heart.

It was the first time I ever had to deal with death, and it was particularly tough because it came in such a shocking and tragic way.

What do you do to pamper yourself and relax?

Well, I've already written about my little flowers/cupcake routine on occasional Mondays. In the spring and through the summer, I like to get pedicures. Sometimes my daughter Michelle and I go together. Giving myself time to write in this blog is also a form of pampering and relaxation.

Believe it or not, my bike rides are an important way of pampering myself. I began cycling in cross-state rides in 2006 and have done RAGBRAI (the Iowa ride) three times, the Shoreline West ride in Michigan twice, and the BRAG in Georgia once. The cross-state rides are very challenging, but they also have an "adult summer camp" quality to them, as my friend Sue likes to say. We decide on our destination ride for the summer, and often it's the only time during the year that I see most of my cycling friends. The rides are usually a week long and we camp along the way. The only goal we have each day is to reach the next camp, and we have all day to do it on a pre-determined route. The few decisions we have to make usually involve food--where and when to eat our meals. The rides are a chance to catch up with my friends' lives, and the camaraderie involved in successfully doing such a physically demanding activity is a rewarding and special thing to experience. The shower at the end of a long day of cycling is always awesome and makes me feel like a new person again. And yes, we do some "celebratory" drinking and sometimes (often?) get pretty silly and slap-happy. On almost every ride, we meet new people and our circle of cycling friends becomes larger. I guess these bike rides would be considered an unusual form of pampering but I truly consider them a joyful and relaxing activity and I'm so glad my friend Sue introduced me to them!

Write about an unforgettable meal.

I'm not necessarily the kind of person who remembers meals over the years. I certainly appreciate delicious food, but most meals don't take on much importance or stick in my mind. We used to joke about my brother and his memory for food. On the long driving vacations we took as a family, he'd remember towns by the restaurants we stopped in and what he had to eat there. "Oh, Mclean, Texas--that's where we went to that cafe with the wagon wheel out front where they put the really good barbecue sauce on their hamburgers," he'd say. I definitely remember going through a fruit stage on those trips. I'd search for fruit plates on the menus--most family restaurants had them back in those days (late 1950s and 1960s). They'd usually give a choice of sherbet or cottage cheese with them, and I'd always take the sherbet.

So I wracked my brain for the answer to this unforgettable meal question, and a clear answer finally came to me. It was a meal that I remember not for being fancy and grandiose, but for being simple and "hitting the spot" at just the right time. We were on a family vacation in New Mexico, and were going on a camping/fishing trip with my grandparents and my Aunt Leora and Uncle Murl. My family had our travel trailer and they had their campers. It had been a long afternoon of traveling and we arrived at the campsite after dark in a driving rain. I was hungry and grumpy after being cooped up in the car all afternoon, and more than a little discouraged at the sloppy mud and chilly rain that greeted us. My Aunt Leora offered to fix us all dinner in their camper. She had prepared a homemade beef stew and cornbread ahead of time, and all she had to do was heat them up. We all crowded into their camper to eat. Leora was always a fantastic cook, and her stew was out-of-this-world delicious. Maybe it was because I was so hungry and uncomfortable to start with, but that hot, tasty meal was really memorable for me and I appreciated it so much, even as a child. Interestingly, it's probably the one meal my brother doesn't seem to recall!

I wish my aunt was still living. I'd tell her about the fond memory I have of the delicious meal she prepared on that rainy night and served in their tiny camper.