I watch her, my mother, sneak around to the back of the house to smoke.  She knows that it is bad for her, but she can’t stop.  She has tried to quit many times.  Yet it never seems to happen.  I remember though, when she would announce that she was quitting.  It was great for a while.  My whole family supported her but support wasn’t enough to fight the cravings.  Soon she was irritable, short tempered and depressed.  Eventually she would start smoking again.

     My grandmother was even worse, I’m sure.  She passed away six years ago due to congestive heart failure.  Undoubtedly, this was because of smoking.  I remember visiting in the hospital when I was small.  She had to have her lungs pumped from all the filth cigarettes had left there but it wasn’t enough to make her quit.   In fact, I remember walking out of the hospital with her.  She was frail and held my father’s hand.  Yet she felt that she was strong enough to light up.  During her memorial service, I vowed never to smoke.