Why wait until your deathbed?

Was saddened by the news of a woman in Toronto who has mere weeks to live (cancer, of course) and was desperately trying to locate the long-lost daughter she gave up 18 years ago, leaving the child with her father. (story here)

But the part that bothers me is while this woman claims to have thought about her lost child (she has three other children now as well) every day for nearly two decades, it took the threat of death to force her to start looking.

Maybe she'll find her daughter. Maybe she won't. But I still don't understand it -- how people can carry these monster-sized regrets for so long? Why would you torment yourself and wait for death before actively doing something about it?

Or perhaps this merely is a classic case of guilt? The old "I'm going to die and now I must make amends..." (Which, of course, is always more about soothing one's own conscience than making things right.)

Still... it saddens me. And a lesson for the rest of us lumps, too.