More people try to quit smoking as a new year's resolution than any other time of the year. My daughter's best friend and his boyfriend are two that we know who are giving it a go as 2009 begins. As a former smoker I wish them success and warned them that the first 4 days suck. Suck out loud actually. But then it's not too bad and eventually will be the greatest decision they've ever made. I know it's the greatest decision I've ever made but I'm not so sure that I didn't kill my dad in the process.
I often wonder if I did indeed kill my dad. What if the reason he was cursed with pancreatic cancer was solely to get me to quit smoking. After many long years of a pack and half a day, I only found the strength to quit as a birthday present to him after he died. During those last days of his battle with that sneaky bastard of a cancer, he mentioned to my mother that "Barbara Lynn needs to quit that smoking." She told me that not too long after he died and I knew then that I had what I needed to finally free myself of that nasty habit. On his birthday a three short months after his death, I smoked my last cigarette. Next month will be eight years.
As I was walking through Manhattan recently it hit me that in the big plan of the cosmos perhaps that was my darling dad's mission. We are all born with a role and specific job to do and what if that was his. If he hadn’t contracted that ugly disease and died so young and unexpectedly, I would most likely still be smoking. Was his mission to save me, or my children, from the damages of cigarettes? I stopped in my tracks and felt like someone hit me with a truck. Was I the reason he was dead? Did I inadvertently kill my own father to fulfill some convoluted plan of destiny? Damn.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment