When I was younger, and even now, my grandmother has been a huge part of who I am. I grew up in Brooklyn in a house just feet away from hers, so there were a lot of things that I learned from her over the years.

She taught me how to roll meatballs properly, how to cross busy streets at the exact perfect time, and how to put myself aside when necessary.

As I've gotten older, life has happened, I moved out of that Brooklyn house, and I suddenly wasn't so free to do whatever I wanted when I wanted anymore.

So now, I speak to my grandmother on the phone when I can, and I read her handwritten cards that roughly spell out my full name in an Italian pronunciation on holidays and birthdays.

However, more recently, I've thought about something she tells me every time I hang up the phone, and something she used to say to me a lot as a kid.

She always tells me that she wants "the best of my life" which, translated from the thick Italian accent means she just wants the best for me. In today's society and in this cruel world, that's saying quite a lot.

I've had a lot of time to think about "the best of my life" recently.

Things have happened in the past few months that have really shook those words out of my head and into the world in front of me.

I've seen people who mean so much to me go near and far.

I've witnessed a dear friend survive cancer.

I've seen the division and fear this past election has caused.

I've been through miracles and been told that "there's more than this."

So, what really is "the best of my life"?

I could probably tell you.

It's sunsets and peach iced tea.

It's friendships that will last forever.

It's free chocolate and firm grapes.

It's good literature and fall weather.

It's ignored time zones and distant phone calls.

It's beautiful pictures and memorized song lyrics blasted through open windows.

It's everything I've been lucky to have.

So, when I hang up the phone now, and she tells me that she still wants "the best of my life" for me, I'm able to tell her that I have it.