A while ago on Facebook, I came across a poignant photo from one of my friends. It showed a grandmother having dinner with her grandson at a local diner. The catch was, the grandson was completely glued to his phone while his grandmother looked sadly on.

When I saw this, I wanted to grab this kid by the shoulders and give him a good shake. "What is wrong with you?" I wanted to say, "Put your phone down! Don't you know your grandmother won't be here forever? Don't you realize that after she's gone you'll regret all the times you never talked? How you never got to know her as a woman and not just the nice old lady who visits you and gives you presents?"

I see this in restaurants all the time, kids staring at their phone (sometimes with headphones on) while their parents try get their attention away from the screen. Conversation at dinner is a dying art and it desperately needs to come back.

Talking during dinner was always something my Mom stressed upon growing up and is something she continues to cherish. At first it was just because that was how she had been raised; her family talked while they ate and somehow, it made the food all the more savorable. Stories were told with such hilarity and tenderness that it made you remember what you were eating all the more and just how good it was.

Now, however, talking at dinner is really the only time she gets to see my dad and I. My mom works from home from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. with only a half hour for lunch, so she rarely leaves her office. My Dad will get home from work and immediately go down for a nap until dinner and I'll be somewhere in the house doing my own thing. Talking during dinner allows us to take a break from our jobs and remind ourselves that everyone is in the same crazy boat and we're not going through these stresses alone.

Conversation is more than just a way to comfort each other during a long work day, though. Sometimes, I learn more about my family during dinner than I would have ever known because I would have never asked. During one dinner with my dad, I saw a side of him I had never seen. We were at a diner in Riverside during my first week home from college. I don't know how the topic came up, but Dad started talking about how he used to be an altar boy. In fact, he had been an altar boy when his grandmother married her second husband.

"He was one of the nicest people I had ever met in my life," Dad told me. "I mean, he was a saint. The man was a saint." My dad is never one to quickly dole out praise to people, always keeping his opinions on people reserved unless asked. Hearing him speak of this man with adoration showed me he loves people very deeply. If it hadn't been for that dinner, I would not have seen the gentle, caring man underneath his dry humor and sarcasm in later moments.

I'm not claiming to be perfect. There have been times where I'm out with friends and I check my phone, and afterwards, I feel like that was a slight to them. Like by checking my phone, I'm not giving them the respect of my utmost attention. I don't think they mind in truth, but when the situation is reversed, I'm reminded of why I should just shut my phone off. I have had many friends enter and exit my life, but I loved all of them dearly.

Sometimes, when they're on their phone, I think, "Look up. Let me see your beautiful face. Let me look into those eyes and guess what you are thinking. Talk to me and remind me why I adore you in the first place. Because of what you're passionate about, because of how you treat me. Let me get to savor this moment because I don't know when we'll see each other again with our busy lives."

Sure, I can text them or give them a call, but words texted onto a screen feel shallow after I realize I just saw this person for two hours and wasted precious moments where I could have hugged them or shared a laugh over soda and pizza.

Dinner will fill our stomachs, but meaningful conversation fills us with memories that will last well beyond the meal. So go out to eat and enjoy the people along with your dinner.