Lord knows, I have been running off at the mouth these last couple of weeks. Tonight I had one of those go down rip out your heart, get a roll of toilet paper, ugly girl crying jags. Now that it has passed, I bathed my face in cold water, I knew I was going to be okay. The depths of my sadness, my grief, had nothing to do with smoking or lack thereof. I am just missing my husband, what my life was supposed to be.
I could go out and smoke a carton a day and it would not relieve my pain. I have lost someone, something I can never get back. I know the truth of it know, smoking was just something that I did, something I became addicted to, something I thought I could not live without. The truth is I can smoke or not, and yes there are days when I think, to hell with it. Okay, so I die sooner than I should, at least the horror parts of life would be over. If we all get lucky we will see each other again in another place. Why, in this world would I just not throw caution to the wind and enjoy the little time I have left.
Sooner or later every decision we make comes back with an answer. My husband made a decision to not go back to the doctor. When he did it was too late, the cancer (skin) had metastasized. He did not feel bad, sick, but found a lump under his arm. That tiny little pea size lump took his life.
So here I am in misery, without him. If I look at smoking again I am just doing the same thing, ignoring the fact that sometimes, things have to change. Sometimes we have to do things in order to protect ourselves and our loved ones from unnecessary grief and heartache. So, I now will be known as the lady who carries a roll of toilet paper in her purse to remind me why there will never be a pack of cigarttes in there again.