Ashley Dye writes THE DYESSERTATION for the Daily News. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the paper or The Daily.

Some people say waiting in line for 15 hours for Dave + Oprah tickets is ridiculous.

It was windy and cold; the ground was hard. If the tickets are free, why wait that long?

My wait was for more than just the shared experience and thrill of the “sleepover” of more than 1,000 strong. It wasn’t even because of an obsession with Oprah Winfrey.

I was in line for my mother, which could sound weird because she died in October 2011.

What drove me through the long night was the memory of my mom — plain and simple.

Winfrey is distinguished and rightly so. If anything, I would have wanted to go just hear what such a revered public figure would say on my campus.

While I’m not her No. 1 fan, I enjoyed “The Oprah Winfrey Show.” My mom told me about how when I was little, I would clap and shout “Ope-wah Winfwee!” while bobbing up and down in my bouncy chair.

After toddler years, I remember coming home from school and seeing her planted in front of the television watching Winfrey’s show, almost every day. It was a constant, whether she was on our blue-and-white checkered couch in our apartment in the early ‘90s or the brown couch in our current house — there she would be.

When “Dr. Phil” started, she would stay glued for that as well.

She loved it; she hung on every word.

I would make fun of her for it — not maliciously — but the way any kid would poke fun at their parent’s entertainment. When she went to a live taping of the show in Chicago, I teased her for being so excited.

Sometimes, I would get annoyed that she was hogging our big TV for the show when all I wanted to do was watch cartoons. I went through a phase of not liking “The Oprah Winfrey Show” solely because she liked it. Clearly, I was a rebel.

Then I grew up. I liked “The Oprah Winfrey Show” again, but not nearly as much as when I was a toddler.

While watching television with someone isn’t the most involved type of quality time, it was our time nonetheless.

And it’s time I’ll never get back.

My mom had her flaws, and our relationship was rocky, but some of our good times were spent discussing and watching Winfrey.

So the chance to get a ticket to see Winfrey and David Letterman at Ball State was too much to pass up — even though it meant bundling up under blankets from 6:20 p.m. until 8:45 a.m. on the grass outside of John R. Emens Auditorium.

Though it would mean even more had I been able to get tickets for my mom and me, there’s no changing the past. So I can’t dwell on that.

Instead, I hope when I sit in Emens Auditorium, I’ll be able to experience half of the bliss my mom felt when she saw Winfrey many years ago.

It’s a way to celebrate her life and remember her before she became a body.

It’s a way to not be sad.

It’s a way to experience life even though she no longer can.

So that’s why I froze my ass off for 15 hours. While my seat may not be close — it’s in row X, despite the fact that there were around 150-200 people in front of me — it’s worth it.