When I was a child, my gracious, feeble grandmother cooked for our whole family – including those she didn’t care too much for. An example of her spread would consist of at least three different meats, a plethora of fried, homegrown vegetables, pies and cakes fit for a king and, of course, pucker-me-perfect lemonade. Her celebratory dinners were possibly the happiest I have ever been in my life.

Sitting around the table conversing with family, facing plates piled high with delectable concoctions, grandmother never failed to utter her wisest idiosyncrasy to our motley crew.

“Ya’ll eat if’n ya can,” she would say.

Her statement resonated with me through adolescence and into adulthood. Later on I understood her ultimate meaning behind that heavily-branded Southern vernacular.

But before I realized what her message truly meant, my father was diagnosed with cancer. 

I am both thankful and resentful of this disgusting, vile disease imposed upon my father. God heard from me every day about how this was the worst thing He could have ever done to my family and how I didn’t think I could ever understand it. I was completely ignorant to the fact God had a plan in mind for my family, me in particular.  

The good news was the cancer was curable. Just like the quote in the movie “Fried Green Tomatoes – “Face it girls, I’m older and have more insurance” – my dad responded to questions about his cancer by saying “Well, we got good insurance.”

Needless to say, mom, dad and I were in high spirits. Until one day, when the tables turned. 

After several chemotherapy treatments, radiation sessions and endless trips to the emergency room, the doctors threw up their hands in defeat. The man who held me for the first time, my emotional rock and worldly salvation, was going to die. 

Instead of commencing an endless-bawling session, I took a minute to think about what my grandmother said. Her quirky phrase had a literal meaning to basically ‘stuff’ my face if there was any way possible, but for the first time I realized her true meaning. 

She was telling me to enjoy every bite, every joke and every story told around our dinner table. When I began to assess the situation surrounding my father’s circumstances, I realized his cancer not only brought our family closer, but it allowed me to connect with him in a way that I was able to enjoy every second of love and every instance of camaraderie up until recently, when he became nonverbal.

I learned a very hard lesson by wading through pools of tears, climbing Mt. Depression and separating church and Anna Grace: Do not take life for granted. It may sound cliché to “live every second like it’s your last,” but I’ve learned it to be true. Our seconds are dwindling.

Even if you “got good insurance,” it may not be enough. Spend the last dollar to your name, stay up late chatting with friends and building strong relationships and let your family get on your nerves by asking a million questions about your first day of college. In the end, those aren’t things you can take with you when you’re gone.