I feel like every person across the globe takes their life for granted. We live our lives without considering the consequences of our actions. It is easy to grow comfortable with tge things that we enciunter every day. We naively go through the motions as if we intend to live forever. I feel like every person's primary goal should be to savor every single second of monotonous life on this planet. It is short lived. Enjoy the everyday. Embrace the people that love you. Hold back on arguing, is it really worth it? Take the good for the good, but find the blessings within the bad. I strive to do this, I hope I have. I pray that every person can adapt this simple personality trait.

I remember my mother nagging my father for months about going to a "real" doctor for a full body check-up to make sure his health was in order. He hadn't been feeling like himself for a while. He brushed the symptoms off as allergies, a cold, possibly pneumonia. Even the fevers were nothing to be too concerned about. He continued going to his job everyday; I can't remember him ever missing a day. I can't remember him ever missing a day in my life for that matter.

My mother's nagging finally won out, Dad went with her to Chattanooga to visit a "real" doctor to get himself checked out. After the first visit they knew something wasn't right. I can't remember if it was one day or three before his next visit to find out the results of the x-rays, but it felt like a hundred years. I knew the news would be bad. It was only logical. My father had smoked at least a pack of cigarettes a day since he was 14. I don't remember where I was or what was said when I first found out my dad had cancer; I felt like I had known all my life. All that I could picture was the looming expression of my traditionally stoic father's features.

I allowed myself to cry for my father. Allowed myself to cry for the man who I worshipped every day of my life. The man who was suddenly no longer infallible to this Daddy's girl. I shed a moment of tears and I promised myself it would be the last time I would ride the emotional roller coaster that comes with a cancer diagnosis.

It's been seven years since my father passed away and while it doesn't hurt like it did at first there are still moments when his absence cuts like a knife. Cancer is a demon. It steals the fabric of normalcy from families. It steals the comfort of routine. It steals the faith from forever. It stole my father's being. He was not himself physically, emotionally or mentally as his life drew to a close. I know few people personally who have dealt with cancer, but I know the vast majority of the human population deals with the disease directly or indirectly. It is so easy to allow oneself to become captivated with despair. To become obsessed with finding a solution. It is easy to allow depression, anxiety and numbness to set in. There is a dark, demanding downside to cancer. This is obvious. I may not be a volunteer rider of the emotional roller coaster, but I am still forced to wait in the mile-long line for hours, amid harsh weather conditions and coupled with the rowdy people in line next to me, unsure of what to expect when I get to the front of the line. I have to admit though that this time was a time of deep bonding with my siblings and close family as we were drawn together by a shared enemy. That can only be seen as a positive.

My father was 62 years old when he passed away. I was 20. All of my life, I was painfully aware that I wouldn't spend most of my life with him by my side, but if he had quit smoking earlier in life he might have still been alive today. My father was not the man to walk me down the aisle to give me away to my future husband. My father was not the second person I called when I discovered my first pregnancy. My father will not meet his only grandchildren he shares biologically with my mother. My children will never know this great man. I will never get to see him be a Grandpa. My children will miss out on all the life-lessons that man taught me- lessons about cattle ranching, serving others and surviving. My children will miss the perspective that man had on the world. My children will miss out on all the memories he could have shared with them of my childhood, the "Good Ol' Days," and his relationship with my mother, their grandmother. These facts still make my heart ache.

This is what cigarettes have stolen from me. If you're a smoker, I implore you to explore your options for quitting. If you can't do it for you, do it for the people that love you- especially the ones that you haven't even met yet