I can remember when I was just a kid and we were in the hospital where gramma lived (she was there for most of my life and she went blind somewhere in that period) and the news came out that cigs caused cancer. Dad pooh-poohed it. Dad smoked. Dad developed lung cancer. Dad had a lung removed. Dad still had lung cancer. Dad died a horrifying long term death. Here’s what is awful. I started smoking. Young and stupid. OK. Well, Dad found out. Did not say a word. But. When I started, he stopped. Not one word about it. I only noticed when he wasn’t coughing when he woke up anymore. Too little, too late. At least I’ve quit. For like 25 years now. But I still fucking dream about smoking. I am still addicted. It will never stop.
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