Sometimes we have a song in our head that keeps playing.

For some reason lately the song that is sticking in my mind is Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.”

As if I were listening to a recording, I keep hearing the part of the song that says “Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention.”

I think the melody is catchy and so are the words. But I don’t know why I should have that song in my head because I haven’t heard it lately and I don’t have any reason for the words to resonate with me.

I did pause to think about regrets over the course of my long life, asking myself what was my biggest regret.

It isn’t anything I did or anything that was done to me. Rather, my biggest regret is what I didn’t do.

I most regret not telling those I loved most why I loved and admired them.

I’m thinking specifically of my mother and my late husband, Andy.

It’s not that I never told them I loved them. I told them many times. But sometimes when we make it a point to often say “I love you” the words become rote and lose their impact.

What I wish I would have done was to tell them specifically why I loved them.

That’s especially true with my mother.

She’s been dead for almost 20 years but I often find myself thinking about how she had such strength in what she had to endure.

I admired her for that strength. When things get tough for me or my daughters we often comment we’ll make it through everything because we have my mother’s strength flowing through our veins.

Sadly, I never told her how much I admired her. Nor did I ever tell her how much I respect her for the strong way she navigated every pain and problem with quiet dignity.

Now I ask myself, did my mother know how special she was?

I’m sure the truth is she did not. I should have been the one to tell her but failed to do it.

Did I ever tell her how much I admired the way she worked in a factory during the day then waitressed at night to support my brother and me after my father was gone from our lives.

How scary it must have been for her when she was left with no money, no support and no place for us to live.

She had no work experience but he wasn’t afraid of hard work and she pulled us through in a remarkable way.

Again, did I ever tell her I appreciated her sacrifices? Never.

Quite to the contrary. As a teenager I told her how “other mothers” treated their kids better, letting them stay out later and not demanding as much from them.

If I could reverse anything in life, I would change that. I would acknowledge she planted in me the seeds that would carry me through life successfully.

Truth be told, we never were a family that gushed over each other giving compliments.

I don’t think my mother ever gave me a personal compliment.

When I was still in high school I had my own column in our local paper. After a few weeks of high reader response they gave me a full page every Saturday.

My mother never commented on what I wrote until she didn’t like the article I wrote about my younger sister. In the article I praised Cindy and said I was so proud of her.

My pride in her was never stronger than when Cindy ran a local 5K race. Not only did she come in last, but she arrived at the finish line well after everyone went home and the work crew took down the protective barriers.

But Cindy didn’t quit. She just kept going with a perseverance that brought tears to my eyes. I was so proud of my determined little sister. That’s what the column was about.

But my mom was upset with me because I started the column saying I was embarrassed when she told me on the night of my senior prom that she was having a baby.

I was so naive that I thought someone my mom’s age was too old to have a baby. She was 36.

Of course I fell in love with Cindy when she was born. And I did give her plenty of compliments.

In the late 50s and 60s, I don’t think children were praised as much as in later years. No one received a trophy for participation.

We were expected to live up to a certain standard so we did.

When I married my husband Andy, there were certainly no regrets. I never stopped thanking God for him and knew he was certain of my love.

After he had two strokes and devastating multiple cancers, he never complained and never said “Why me Lord?”

He was always the wind beneath my feet.

I wish I would have made sure he knew that.

Now, I make sure I tell my daughter how special I think they are. I try hard to do it because I learned too late the regret that comes from not saying the words.

I hope you take time to tell your loved ones why they are special.

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.com.

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