Why I Quit Smoking

Why did I finally quit smoking? After years of trying? After years of promising myself I would? After thousands of packs of cigarettes and many more thousands of dollars? Do you really want to know?

I don't really want to tell you. It's not that I don't want to help you quit. It's not that I think you don't deserve the information. It's not that I don't like to write; I am a writer by profession - at least one of them. I just don't want to have to write about this one thing. I don't want to have to dredge up a memory that is fresh, immediate and painful.

Why did I finally quit?

My father died…

Of lung cancer…

By the time they found this cancer, it was too late; it was already terminal. Knowing this, he waited to tell us. Oh sure, he told us he had cancer - AGAIN - but swore that there was a strong chance that they would be able to treat it….just like they had treated the others. He had wanted to wait until after the holidays, after Eva's and my anniversary (Valentine's Day) to tell the family that he would be leaving soon. You see, the doctors said he had several months, maybe years…

When he went into the hospital in late January, it became obvious that he wouldn't be able to wait to tell us. The cancer had advanced far more quickly than even the worst-case estimate had envisioned. I got a call late one night from my older sister's husband. Oh, no problem really…your dad's in the hospital…the tumor has grown again…no need to come down. Oh, sure…

I got there about two in the morning. He was on life support - a breathing machine because he couldn't do it on his own. Phhhht, khhhh…phhhht, khhhh…He was sedated due to the discomfort. When he occasionally drifted up to reality, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable and confused. I could barely hold it together for the rest of my family. But the strong one was strong no longer. The pillar to which we had all clung was collapsing. I could see in his eyes that he expected me to be the strong one now. Oh, God…

The next day, they placed a stent in his brachia. Shortly after the procedure, he was able to breathe on his own again. We talked into the night. The rest of the family had gone home. Somehow, I knew in my heart that this would be the last time we'd get to spend with each other. I didn't want to admit it to my conscious mind, but I knew all the same. I stayed with him the entire time he was in the hospital fearing that, if I left, I'd never see him again.

I am grateful to Spirit that He allowed us that time. We both got to say so many things that needed saying. Fences were finally, fully mended. Love was shared, good-byes were said…just in case, you know. Nothings going to happen. I'll be fine…I've got several more years in me. Yeah, right…

After a few days in the hospital, Dad went home. He seemed to be feeling much better and - for a time - we all thought that maybe he was telling the truth. Only for a time…a very short time.

Less than a week later, on Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2000, at about 10 in the morning, I got THE CALL. As soon as I heard the voice on the other end (again my brother-in-law) I knew. He didn't have to tell me that Dad was back in the hospital, didn't have to tell me that it was time…but I let him do it anyway. I called Eva immediately and then my boss, then the rental car company. We finally got to the hospital mid-afternoon. Thankfully, Dad was still there.

Dad had said over and over that he didn't want to stay on long-term life support. Sure, if it was a temporary measure, that was fine. But if he required permanent assistance, then it was time to let God make the choice.

After affording me the opportunity to speak with all of the doctors - just as the rest of the family had already done - they brought Dad out of sedation for the last time. True to form to the bitter end, his first words to us were, "You'sa surprised to see me?" I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or hit something. We each took our turn to say a final goodbye. I will never forget our last moments together. He asked for my word that I would take care of Mom. On my honor… He then told me, "Lane, you've never given up before. Don't give up now…never give up."

After we each had our time, they lowered him into sedation for the final time. Everyone but his children and his wife left the hospital. The four of us stayed until the end. The doctors removed the rest of the life support and most of the monitoring equipment and left us alone. Occasionally, someone would come in with another shot of morphine. I sat and watched my father fade slowly. It was the most heart wrenching thing I have ever gone through.

Finally, I knew it was almost done. Sensing that he was ready to make the crossing, I read to him a poem I'd written for a Birthday card a few years earlier. He had cried when he read it back then. I cried as I read it now…

The Lighthouse
© 1998, Lane Baldwin

The wind whispers softly in the sails,
telling of adventures to come
on this open sea of life.

The water answers in kind as it crawls
along the sides of this ship I sail
into unknown territory.

Ahead lies the great unknown.
the horizon melting into the starlit sky -
foreboding…fearsome.

The shore is almost gone - the last vestige of security
creeping slowly into the waters,
soon to disappear forever.

Yet still, the light shines bravely,
urging me on…
the fire never dies…

Somehow, he managed to rise one last time through the morphine haze. His hand squeezed mine with what little energy he could muster. His eyes opened every so slightly and, looking upon me one final time, he smiled. Inhaling his last breath, he closed his eyes…

I closed my eyes and held his hand. I sang my song softly…doing what little I could to help him on his way. When I had finished my brief ceremony (which, for now, will remain private) the four of us that remained sang his favorite hymn, Amazing Grace. And we remembered one of his favorite verses in his book of faith…

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.

We had to wait to bury Dad; it takes some time to arrange a funeral at Arlington National Cemetery; the waiting list is a least a week long. The service was very dignified, the Color Guard the finest they had. The 21 gun salute could have hurt my heart no more if they had shot me directly. The bugle cried into the overcast as we wept silently. Spirit granted the fly-by that the Army could not arrange….a flock of geese flew directly over his coffin as the bugler played…calling to him…showing the way home.

After all was said and done, and everyone was returning to their cars, I stood one last time with my father. With one hand on his coffin, I renewed the vows I had made to him. On Valentine's Day, 2000, I promised him that I would quit smoking before my Birthday. Wrenching my heart from my chest and leaving it there on the casket, I finally turned away…Happy Anniversary…

As I write this, my father's last picture sits next to me. Although his eyes still shine with the humor, dignity and decency of a time gone-by, his skin is pale and translucent. There is no more hair on his scalp. He weighs about half what he did in his prime. I can't look at this picture without crying. I could barely type this story for you.

So….why did I quit smoking? Because I'll be damned if I'll put my wife, my daughter, my family and friends through what I've gone through.

I have quit.

I will stay quit.

I well NEVER smoke another cigarette in my life.

I hope this helps you…

© - 2000 by Lane Baldwin

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