It's been so long I can barely remember the cause of the family rift that kept me separated from an aunt, an uncle, and cousins for many years. All that remains clear is that a once-close family split apart because of disagreement and hurt feelings and that my grandma -- the glue that held this family together for more than 50 years -- was heartbroken. She did everything she could to repair the damage of her splintered family. But despite begging, pleading, and continued prayers, reconciliation seemed impossible -- until it became evident this sweet woman was about to die.

The progress was slow and began with a rallying of family members at my grandma's bedside. She was somewhat incoherent at the time, and I'm not quite sure if she realized her broken family was on the mend. But I hope she knows, in some heavenly way, that she is the one who ultimately brought everyone together.

After her passing, we all gathered for her memorial service. We took turns spreading her ashes at a tree planted in her honor. We talked and visited and laughed and ate. We broke the ice and opened the door for further interaction. It was refreshing to mourn the loss of Gram without overriding tension and conflict.

I'm not sure if family relations would have continued without what happened next. I suspect we may have all returned to our lives and gone our separate ways, happy we had reconnected but still missing the closeness we once experienced. But then cancer entered our lives, shocked us all, and gave us all reason to stay in touch.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer not long after my grandma died. And the same people who came to her bedside came to my rescue in ways I never would have imagined in the heat of battle. The same people who for years were absent from my life were the ones offering me support and encouragement and love. They helped me get better.

Once I was better, life returned to a somewhat normal routine. And maybe we would have routinely slipped back into our selfish ways. But illness struck again, requiring we all step back up to the plate.

My uncle, who has lived with diabetes for many years, was faced this year with losing his foot. Thankfully, he found specialists who gave him hope and reason to travel every month for several months to a clinic in my city, where eight family members live and where options never before available to him became a reality -- both medically and personally.

My uncle is doing well, walking on his foot with the aid of a brace. And our family is doing well, as a result of frequent visits, lunches, and continued laughs.

It took death and disease to bridge the gap that existed for much too long between the members of my family. And just this weekend, after spending a glorious weekend with my long-lost cousins, I realized we have possibly arrived back where we once started -- before whatever led to our disagreement and hurt feelings drove us apart.

I believe Gram is smiling down upon us at this very moment, content at last that her three beautiful children -- and their children and their children -- are again a happy family.

I remember thinking when my grandma was a spunky 80-year-old -- still going to aerobics classes in her purple tights -- that it must be sad to be such an age when so many friends and acquaintances are falling ill and passing away. My grandma was always one to care for others, call on others, pray for others -- and often she seemed to be the only one in her circle who was thriving. Somehow, she took it all in stride and continued baking and gardening and sewing and living strong until her own death at the age of 86 -- when she left her remaining friends and acquaintances wondering if their own time on Earth was approaching a quick end. At the time, I thought this loss of friends was merely a side effect of aging. It didn't seem to concern me at my own young age of 30. I didn't really know any 30-year-olds who were dying. And I didn't predict anyone my age would be dying until I was closer to the age of 80. How wrong I was.

I am now 36 years old. And I know many women my age who have died -- most of them because of breast cancer, the same disease I have been fighting for nearly two years. So it's not only sad to me that people my age are dying, it's also quite personal and frightening -- for it could easily me in the same predicament. So I feel vulnerable -- so many years earlier than I imagined.

I think I know how my grandma must have felt when her loved ones were leaving her. And I think I will take her same approach to coping with this unfortunate fact of life. Although I couldn't possibly bake and garden and sew like she did, I can keep busy with my own hobbies and interests. And I can continue living strong until my own death -- which hopefully won't occur until after I've made my appearance in purple tights. About 50 years from now.

She says it's all that really matters to her -- the time she spends with family. It comes before work and commitments and responsibilities. It shapes her minutes, her hours, her days. It brings her joy and laughter and sometimes tears. It propels her, comforts her, inspires her. And it shows -- in everything she does. And she does a lot. But most important, especially in light of today -- Grandparent's Day -- is what she does for her grandchildren who are too small to truly express what's in their little hearts but will surely one day shout from rooftops with joy about this woman who wraps them in love every day. But for now, these three children -- ages five, three, and almost two -- mostly just shout happily about all sorts of things that don't always make a lot of sense. So today, I will speak for them. I will say thank you to their Nana -- my mom -- who watches her granddaughter every day, picks up her grandson from kindergarten two times per week, takes all three kids on swimming adventures, babysits on a moment's notice, and has twice this year sat with her daughters for hours in emergency rooms with sick babies. And in addition to the fact that she was completely by my side during my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, she was also somehow caring for my children -- her grandsons.

If my mom wasn't sitting with me during chemotherapy infusions, she was watching my boys so my husband could be with me. If she wasn't sitting with me in the hospital each time I was admitted with neutropenia, she was at home with my boys so my husband could sit with me. And when my husband had to rush me to the hospital with dangerous fevers, she arrived in the middle of the night, slept in my bed, and greeted my babies when they woke. She entertained my boys every day for seven weeks while I hauled myself to and from radiation appointments. During chemo, she took my kids when I was tired, foggy, incoherent and needed desperately to sleep. She did it all -- tirelessly, effortlessly, constantly.

And so on this Grandparent's Day, I realize that I owe this grandma for saving my life. By caring for the two most important people in my world, she allowed me to fight for my life -- and to come back to life. And there seems nothing really appropriate I can share with her for this gift she has given me. But I can say thank you. And one day, when they can eloquently express their own feelings, I know Jordan and Joey and Danny will all let their Nana know just how important she is. All day. Every day.