I never did. Probably because *everybody* else in my family did. Oh, I tried two of Dad's Kool's and one of Mom's Salem's, back in the day. They all sucked, I didn't get it.
Last week, my mother died.
Of lung cancer. Complicated by emphysema.
I've not had a day off since early January.
Why? Because I worked all week, then went home for the weekend. So my father, and sister, who cared for my dying mother, could sleep for at least two nights. It was the least I could do. And far less than my Dad, and my sister, both smokers, did.
I don't grudge a thing for them. It was worse for them. Dad took care of Mom the whole time, and my sister worked until that last week, and then helping out as she could in the afternoon and at night. That last week, she quit working altogether, as she and Dad did split shifts caring for Mom. Mom did not die unloved and alone, surrounded by strangers.
I do have a tiny grudge with Mom. Not the part about taking care of her. Hell, that was a debt I paid ungrudgingly, if for no other reason than it was a hell of a lot harder on her than it was on us, and taking care of her at the end was going to happen one way or another. No, it's with *why* she died when and as she did.
I loved my mother. I was happy to spend the time with her, saying goodbye. Paying back what she did for me for years - care for me when I was unable to care for myself. Yet I saw my mother in ways you simply aren't supposed to see your mother. Such is life, and death.
I don't believe we should use the law to stigmatize smoking and smokers. Really.
You get to choose. You ought to.
But...
But.
If you have children? A spouse?
You are setting them up for hell if you make the choices that result in them having to help you die that way.
Imploding on yourself.
Because of a choice.
Getting to watch you be consumed from within.
I loved my mother. I miss her deeply. And God as my witness I'm pissed at her, too.
My Dad had to kill Mom's dog yesterday. Let's call it what it is. Killing. Not "putting to sleep," or "putting her down." Oh, Meggy was 19 years old and had a good life. She'd just had a massive stroke. But Dad had to take her to the vet yesterday and kill her. It was the right thing to do, for Meggy and Dad.
But it shouldn't have been like this. Not one week to the day after Mom died in their home, in her bed, with Dad, asleep on couch cushions on the floor beside her in her bed. Because he loved her. Because that was where it was just his duty to be. Because it was Monday, and I was back at work. And my sister was aleep downstairs. But Dad was there. Paying *his* debt for the times he wasn't there, because of the demands of his service as a soldier, and his freely-shouldered obligation as a husband.
Smoke if you want.
But remember - you are asking a whole f**king lot of your family - which they will give, if you've done your bit right otherwise.
But.Jesus.H.Christ.on.a.crutch.
It's a farging choice.
Make it.
Mom said she couldn't stop.
Heh.
Mom stopped cold turkey. Right after she put the oxygen cannula under her nose.
Too late to do any good, for all that she had no choice at that point.
So can you. Right *now* if you love your family. Before.the.cannula. You really can. Yeah, it will probably suck. But not as much as what happened to my mother sucked.
Nope. I'm not writing to my congressional delegation, asking for more laws. It just isn't the job of government to dictate that way. Not that that stops those meddling do-gooders on *both* sides of the aisle. Nurse Bloomberg and his ilk can go pound sand.
I'm talking to YOU.
I.f**king.hate.cancer. More so when it is so.f**king.*optional*.
Okay. I'm done preaching.
Move along. I'm done.
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