Living Proof

As a teen, I used to smoke cigarettes. I knew that my grandfather died of it. He walked around with an oxygen tank gasping for air due to his emphysema. Even though I knew the risks involved in smoking, grandpa was just 'one' example in my mind - as though it was probably just a fluke thing - because well, mom & dad smoke all the time and they’re okay... I remember sitting in my health class being asked by the teacher, “By a show of hands, how many of you walk into another room when your parents light up a cigarette?” Everyone rose their hand. I did too. Everyone else did. I didn’t want to be the odd one out. Dinner at our house was typical by any standard, (I think). Even if we were still eating dinner, dad would smoke probably two to three cigarettes while we were all finishing. Cigarette butts were left sticking out of leftover mashed potatoes and at times, a great big ashtray was placed next to dad. Mom was more tame with her habit. My father chain smoked - to the poi...

Between a lack of sleep and my thought process brewing from the early evening hours, I found myself awake, eyes wide opened, hoping at any given moment, the sandman would come find me. I tried chamomile tea, reading long painstaking articles and even tried deep breathing, visualization type of stuff. Nothing worked. I feel “change”, and no - not the menopausal type of change, but change in means of how I think and how everything around me and in my life has taken a slight shift. Change is good, but often at times can leave me scared and questioning every single thing in my life. Years ago, if you told me my dad cancer, I’d know without a doubt that he wouldn’t give up. He’s a fighter. I looked up to my dad because he was so strong, brave and nothing ever got him down. ..except for this. Not even a year ago, I couldn’t imagine him giving up. His positive attitude, his energetic spirit and laughter were all ingredients to kick this thing. Now, when I walk into the room where he rests his...