If you can’t take it with you, you might as well eat it here.

On one unforgettable Sunday, I lost sight of my dad at the local all-you-can-eat buffet. My dad loved to eat, and my family took him to a Sunday prime rib brunch. My father had both diabetes and heart disease, but it was cancer that would soon claim his life. I completed my usual trek down multiple aisles of food and returned quickly to the table with a sampling of my favorite dishes. The children and husband soon followed. But not dad.

Several minutes passed. I knew everyone was thinking the same thoughts as our eyes searched the aisles for my dad’s head bobbing above the crowd.

“Where’s grandpa?” my daughter Nicole asked.

“Probably holding the prime rib hostage,” I said.

“Huh?”

I didn’t have the chance to explain, nor did I really want to. I saw dad heading straight for the table with a large plate of food teetering precariously between two hands.

He dropped into the chair across from me and almost dropped the plate. A dollop of mashed potatoes landed in a bowl of nearby chocolate pudding. I didn’t care; my eyes were fixated on the foot of food towering on top of my father’s plate – one layer of prime rib covered with mashed potatoes with green beans on top, dressing, gravy, another slab of beef, and the second crown of potatoes. The dessert was on top.

“Are you going to eat that?” I asked.

My dad’s eyes twinkled. “Yep,” he said.

I watched him pick up his knife and fork, poised above his masterpiece. Like a hunter preparing for the kill, this was his moment, and I could almost see his eyes roll back into his head with unbridled pleasure as he savored his first bite. “Damn,” he groaned, “That was good.”

I just shook my head. “Dad, if you wanted all that food, why didn’t you just get a second plate?”

“Nah,” he said, “That prissy dietitian said I could only have one plate of food, and by God, I was gonna make the best of it.”

This scene happened well over a decade ago but is permanently etched in my memory. It is one of my favorite memories of my father. Why? Because this scenario is a classic example of my dad, his love of food, and his quirky sense of humor. My dad knew well that priorities change based on circumstances. What is important at one point in time may become irrelevant over time. At that moment, at that buffet, making healthy food choices was no longer important. What was important was family, peace, enjoyment, and the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with loved ones. Diabetes wasn’t going to end my father’s life; cancer would, and soon.

My dad passed not long after that Sunday brunch, but he left a wonderful memory that will make me smile whenever I think of him. At the end of the day, isn’t that what is really important, the sharing of precious moments, the ones that remind us how fleeting and priceless life really is? What better gift than to leave a loved one with a piece of yourself wrapped in memory’s warm blanket? Wouldn’t it be lovely to choose to live with that idea in mind? What if we consciously choose to live life fully, unapologetically, and with unerring gusto each day? Seize the moment, for each moment only comes once.