Yesterday, as I was rushing out the door to meet my niece, I caught sight of my kitchen sink piled high with dirty dishes. For a moment, I hesitated. The old instinct to “just get this done first” tugged at me. But instead of reaching for the sponge, I reached for a t-towel, draped it over the sink, and walked away.

That tiny act wasn’t just convenience—it was the result of a lesson I learned nearly 40 years ago, one that has shaped the way I live my life.

Back then, I was a young woman, full of energy and excitement, planning my wedding. My grandma, a woman of great strength and wisdom, had spent the last 30 years of her life in a wheelchair. She’d seen plenty of days go by—some filled with love and connection, and others consumed by chores and obligations.

One afternoon, she called me into her kitchen. She rolled her wheelchair over to the sink, which held a few unwashed dishes. Picking up a t-towel, she covered them completely. Then she turned to me with a knowing smile.

“Never say no to a chance to go with Dennis, or to go with a friend,” she told me. “Don’t let housework keep you from living. Just cover your dishes with a t-towel. They’ll be waiting for you when you return.”

It was such a simple piece of advice—but the way she said it, the conviction in her voice, made it feel profound. My grandma understood something that many of us forget: moments with loved ones are precious and fleeting, but chores are patient. They’ll wait.

Over the years, I’ve put her wisdom into practice more times than I can count. There have been afternoons when I closed the door to a messy room before guests arrived, mornings when I left an unfolded pile of laundry in favor of coffee with a friend, and evenings when I chose a last-minute outing over scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Each time, I remembered her words and realized—those dishes never minded waiting, but the people in my life wouldn’t always be there.

Yesterday was another one of those moments. I had a choice: spend my time cleaning, or spend it making a memory with my niece. I thought of my grandma, the t-towel, and the countless days I might have missed if I had chosen the sink instead of life. So I covered the dishes, stepped outside, and left the house exactly as it was.

When I came home later, the dishes were still there, quietly waiting for me, just as my grandma had promised. But my heart was full, my niece was happy, and I knew I’d made the right choice.

Because in the end, a spotless kitchen can’t hug you back. But the moments you choose to live? Those will stay with you forever.