It was 1977. As a young child, our loving Italian family loved getting together for Sunday night dinners. My grandmother Elsie was the matriach. She loved spending time with everyone and cooking up delicious Italian food.

She was a smoker and everyone tried to get her to quit but she wouldn't. She was from the generation who thought smoking wasn't going to hurt her.

One day, Elsie wasn't feeling well. She was in her mid-50's and thought she just had a cold or something. She went to the doctor, but it was too late. She had lung cancer and even chemo was not going to save her. There was nothing the doctors could do.

She died a few months later.

She was the glue that held my family together. I remember how dark and lonely my grandfather's house became after she died. He kept the parlor closed up and rarely opened up the blinds. He was very lonely and didn't understand how someone he loved so much could be taken away so quickly.

None of us understood. I grew up without my grandmother because she smoked.

I am very sensitive now to people smoking and luckily, no one in my family smokes. I saw how quickly someone I loved was taken away from me and it was horrible to go through.

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This is a sponsored post on behalf of Lunchbox. All opinions are my own.