I grew up in a family of meat and potato eaters. My mom's dad was a butcher and a caterer. I always remember very heavy comfort food meals at my grandparents' house growing up. There was always gravy involved. I remember my grandfather always having a plate that looked like everything was running together. That drove me crazy because for the longest time I couldn't stand any of my food touching. There are still some things that I don't want touching on my plate!
My grandfather died when I was 11 years old and I remember it as if it was yesterday. He drove himself to a doctor's appointment that morning and the doctor couldn't believe it. Doc said his heart "exploded". Granddad was in the hospital's Cardiac Care Unit for about 15 days and never came out. He died way too young at the age of 64.
My grandmother never cooked. Why would she? The love of her life was a butcher and loved to cook and bake. Grandmother loved her desserts and there was never a table that didn't have some sort of sweet as part of the meal at their house. During the summers, the food may not be as heavy but it was usually some sort of fried goodness. After my grandfather passed and my grandmother got older, she started leaning toward frozen food meals ridden with salt because of the ease in which they came. She never gave up her sweets though. Pepperidge Farm. Little Debbie. Cakes, pies, cookies, brownies. She didn't discriminate. When my grandmother was 78, she had triple bypass surgery and a pacemaker placed as well. A few months shy of her 90th birthday, my grandmother died from complications of heart disease.
My grandparents were overweight but not obese. They didn't have the healthiest of lifestyles when it came to eating but that's the way they were raised. Honestly, they didn't know any better back then. None of us did. I sure didn't. They were happier than any couple I have ever witnessed in my almost 45 years, though. No one (aside from my dad) enjoyed life as much as my grandfather did. If you were able to ask Granddad right now, I'm sure he'd tell you he didn't regret a thing and would probably do it all over again the exact same way.
Growing up, we always had some sort of meat, potatoes and bread on the table too. It wasn't just at my grandparents' house. But think about it, my parents grew up that way because their parents did. It's all they knew. I loved mom's roast beef. No matter how many times I tried to do it myself, I couldn't get it to taste like hers. Roast beef cooked in the crockpot with mashed potatoes, gravy and carrots. Dad and I would always make a hot roast beef sandwich out of it and we were so proud of ourselves. A piece of white bread - slices of roast, mashed potatoes on top, another piece of white bread and then smother it in gravy. Top it off with a ton of black pepper. Dad would do the same thing but he'd put the mashed potatoes first and then the meat. We'd always laugh that the other one did it wrong. Mom would always shake her head at us because we did such things with our food. We'd often want more because it was so delicious but we'd have an open face one for the second helping.
When I knew I was going to start this 30-day challenge, I spent a week eating all of the things that I knew I loved and wouldn't be able to have during those 30 days (and maybe never again). Mom's roast beef was one of those things and yes, I made the obligatory hot roast beef sandwich. No doubt, Dad was with me in spirit. It made me smile, and yes, I enjoyed it thoroughly because Mom made it.
After high school, probably in college, I started changing my eating habits. It didn't take long and I was able to help transition my parents' way of eating as well. Before long, there weren't any more fried foods being presented at the dinner table. Steak wasn't a weekly staple. There were salads and rice and more vegetables. Items were being grilled more. Olive oil was being used instead of butter. Mom still had to have her bread and desserts though and that won't ever change. Dad would still salt everything out of habit before he ever even tasted it which made me absolutely crazy. But we all have our vices.
We are all a product of our environments. I am a product of my parents eating habits but I was luckily able to break the mold pretty early on and help them to a certain extent as well. It's not easy to change after being a certain way for so very long. I never blamed any of my family members for that but I knew that with a family history of heart disease, I needed to do something to take charge of my health while I still could.
Where am I going with all of this? Am I just blabbing on and on? In a way, I guess I am. Stream of consciousness, really. The bottom line is food is a big part of me. Family is a big part of me. Food and family have always gone hand in hand for me. Family meals were important and for the most part aren't even practiced anymore. It truly makes me sad. Most of my fondest memories revolve around food and family. Sitting around the dinner table was always the one time out of each day that we would always spend as quality time. Holiday meals were always filled with tons of people and tons of good food. Over the years, those tables would get smaller because people would either move away and create families of their own or their time here on this earth was up. Still, even if it was just the three of us - me, Mom and Dad- we still had incredible times around the dinner table. Perhaps that's why I love entertaining so much. Perhaps that's why I love cooking so much. It's in my blood. I know that when I am in my zone in the kitchen it's because of my grandfather. I literally can feel him at times, pushing me to continue, motivating me and helping me find my way in the kitchen.
So, this challenge truly is a challenge for me. It's not just changing the way I eat. It's changing all that I know about food. In a way, it's taking away my childhood. My connection. It feels like it's taking away my happiness - the joy that I have always found surrounding food. That joy isn't there right now and that makes me sad. It also makes me angry. My grandfather was taken from this earth suddenly and way too soon. Was it due to his eating habits? Most likely - it sure didn't help any. My grandmother lived to almost be 90 but if it wasn't for her heart disease she wouldn't have suffered for three long weeks and she'd still be here. Was her demise a product of her eating behaviors? All signs point to that being in the affirmative.
My grandparents. They loved food. They loved their lives. They loved each other. They enjoyed every moment. Out of 64 total years, my grandfather only suffered for 15 days. Out of almost 90 years, my grandmother only suffered for three weeks. Those 15 days and three weeks were absolutely devastating nightmares for all of us and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But it didn't consume them. It wasn't a disease that had changed their lives here on earth. They lived their lives and they lived it with such happiness and pure love and joy... and surrounded by delicious food.
Right now, I'm looking at this eating challenge as a way to improve my health and to physically feel better and look better. I'm looking at the future and knowing the odds are against me for heart disease because of my family history and I don't want to make it worse for myself. Odds are, I won't be lucky like my grandparents were because I don't have any children or siblings (not like my dad's was ever useful) to take care of me when I get sick or am dying. I don't want to put that burden on Hubs; not if I can help it. Not if I have any control over it. It's kind of like continuing to smoke cigarettes even after the doctor tells you that if you keep at it, he won't be able to help you and you'll soon have a heart attack and will die. Why keep doing it when you know it's not going to be a positive outcome? Wouldn't that be enough to make you stop? So shouldn't this be enough to warrant me making a change in my eating?
Of course it should, and that's a big reason why I chose this path.
But then I hear my dad. He would truly think that I had lost my mind by doing this challenge and by considering changing my entire food lifestyle. He knows how much joy I find in food because he shared in that joy. Did his eating habits cause his cancer? Absolutely not. I know without a doubt that Agent Orange, as a result of being sent to Vietnam, is what caused his cancer. But, if he had changed his eating habits, could it have prolonged his life and perhaps even cured his cancer? It definitely wouldn't have hurt and probably would have helped. I wish he would have changed his diet when he was first diagnosed 21 years ago. I wish that diet and knowing about whole food plant based eating would have been at the forefront back then. I wish I would have known back then how monumental this lifestyle is to healing. But by the time I did, it was too far gone. In 2015, when chemo was the only option left to treat my dad's prostate cancer, with the help of my lifelong best friend who is a nurse, I tried to get Dad to understand the healing power of food. We got a holistic doc on board and she started him on supplements and a nutrition plan but he didn't follow it 100%. He changed some of his habits but not enough and honestly, at that stage in his life, I couldn't blame him. I could blame me, though and I did. Actually, I still do.
So when I whine and bitch because I want a burger or I want to eat an entire block of cheese for dinner with a bottle of wine, or I want that fried chicken breast or I want that filet mignon with hollandaise sauce, or I want to eat that entire chocolate cake, I have to remind myself that it's not ALL about the food. In the same respect, it's not NOT all about the food either. I have to step back and remember. I couldn't save my grandfather, my grandmother, or my dad. But I have a chance at saving me. By doing that, I don't feel like they completely died in vain.
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