To the Smokers: You Are Not Alone



A short time ago, when I was fourteen, I found out the hard way that no one was untouchable. Especially the people that tried to do right, but were still struck down by a two- inch long piece of paper and leaves. You see, when I was fourteen, my father died because of smoking. Let’s step back a bit, about seven years into the past from that day. I was about seven years old at the time when both of my parents decided to quit smoking, for good. They had decided that it was in fact a health risk to them as well as to my brother, sister, and I. It wasn’t easy for them, but they did it eventually. My mother got very ill because of the withdrawals, but other than that, they were successful. Now seven years into the future. On a blustery winter night in January, my whole family was helping to put our plow onto my father’s silvery GMC Sierra. My father, in an attempt to adjust the plow with his bare hands, popped a rib. In extreme pain, my mother brought him to an emergency visit with the physical therapist. They popped the rib back in, but it didn’t heal. The pain didn’t go away. After a series of tests and a few secretive doctor’s visits later, they had found out the truth. On January 11th, 2011, my father was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. The cause: he smoked for 35 years of his life. The cancer was incurable, and the prognosis was that he had a year to live. Without going into details, my once tall, proud father, was reduced to looking like an eighty- year- old man. He walked with a cane, and just riding in the passenger seat of a car pained him to the point that he screamed. He knew he was going to die, but he made the best of it. He tried to stay strong, to provide hope for the rest of us when he himself knew that there was no hope to be had. After 5 months of treatment, my father succumbed to the disease. I watched him die, and I watched the life drain from his frail form. I saw his soul leave and a silence descended on the room as it passed. His last words to me will ring in my head forever. I lost my father to a disease that too many people believe will never affect them. Smokers themselves believe that this could never happen to them. My father tried to do right, he quit, and seven years later he died despite of this. What people don’t realize, is that smoking affects everyone around you. The repercussions of my father’s death still echo around my house. After my father’s death, I developed sever anger management problems that have steadily become worse. I find myself incapable of smiling sometimes because I think of all the things that my father will not be there to see. I turn sixteen in about two months, and he won’t be there. He won’t see my brother go off to prom, and he won’t be able to walk my sister down the aisle if (god forbid) she ever gets married. He just won’t be there. This disease has affected anyone and everyone around me, and I can never return to a normal teenage life because of it.

Now, fast- forward to present day. As of right now, it is the end of January. The holidays are over and I can breathe again. Still, the shadow of loss hangs even lower nowadays. You see, the holidays have always been rough since my father’s passing, but this year they were even worse. We just didn’t have the heart to deal with them. I would become bitter and angry at the mere mention of “Merry Christmas”, or “Happy Holidays”, because they weren’t merry or happy. Then, on Christmas Day, we were begrudgingly accepting the fact that the holidays had to be dealt with. We went to a Christmas party at my Grandmother’s. We pull up, and there’s my Aunt Linda standing in the driveway. She asks my mother if she’s spoken to or seen my Aunt Sharon recently. My mother responds no, and Aunt Linda says: “Nobody’s spoken to her in a few days, so Shaun and Carol went to check on her.” (Shaun is my cousin, my Aunt Sharon’s son, and Carol is another of my Aunts). They came back a few hours later, and the news was: Aunt Sharon is dead. I couldn’t believe my ears. Dead? Like, really, really dead? Why? How? When did she die? A few days later, we found out that she had a massive coronary heart attack and they had found her dead on the kitchen floor with her little cocker spaniel, Molly, at her side, crying. The reason, they believe, is that because of years of smoking and drinking had lead to her demise. Another death because of cigarettes. The estimated time of death was either late Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. She had died on Christmas Day. Merry Christmas to all indeed. All the more reason to hate the holidays now when they roll around. Still, to all the smokers, who believe that they are untouchable. To the people who believe that the people around them will never suffer because of the decision they made. To the people who allow their lives to be ruled by a two- inch long stick of paper and leaves.


To you, all of you, you are not alone. We are the ones who must carry on your legacy, who must bear the loss and sadness and grief of your mistake. While you may suffer, the people around you suffer more afterwards. Be your own person, and don’t allow your life to be ruled by anything but yourself. Don’t make your children bear my burden. I carry enough as it is.