Today a dear friend and mentor of mine, a woman who I have asked a few times to write for this new Web site, finally confided the reasons she could not, and would not, be submitting anything.

She said she felt you should nurture your relationships while family members and friends are still here. . .that five more minutes simply wouldn’t be sufficient.

My response?

That I am fine with her decision, and I TOTALLY get it. I realize that Five More Minutes With is not going to be everybody’s cup of tea. (An aside. My own father thinks the whole concept is “morbid” and a person should learn to compartmentalize death and dying.)

Anyway, I told her that anyone who has said all they needed or wanted to say to those they love before they die are the lucky ones. . .

Even I probably wouldn’t have become so invested in this subject had I not discovered my beautiful mother , whose motto was to “live each day gloriously,” and who raised orchids under black lights, was a secret compulsive hoarder. Here she is at the orchid display at Longwood Gardens in Kenneth Square, Pennsylvania.

And here is the kitchen pantry, a.k.a., her “office” when I was growing up. Poor Cimarron. . .hardly enough space to perch.

And here is one of the drawers in her kitchen, just before she died. Had I only known, or recognized what was going on here.

After her death, and after my father moved away from the home they shared for 20 years, Spencer and I discovered her secret stash when we went down to clean out the house and ended up with 39 huge garbage bags of trash and refuse.

I will always feel sorry Mom didn’t confide in me/us so I/we could have gotten her the help she so desperately needed. . .that is my life’s greatest regret, and the impetus for Five More Minutes With.