The Great American Smokeout

Today is the Great American Smokeout! This is the day that smokers are encouraged to quit smoking just for one day. I could be the start of a new life for you.

I come from a house of smokers. My mom, dad, sister and two brothers all smoked from the time they were teens. And except for one brother, they all quit, some more permanently than others, nevertheless they were able to stop smoking at least for a period of time.

I have to say I am very proud of the victories my family has had over cigarettes. They all quit cold-turkey, mostly because there were not as many aids or support systems in place when they quit as there are today.

After Dad died, we found a small black notebook in he used as a day-planner. In it we noticed a number printed in red at the top of each page. We could not figure out what it was until finally we came across a page that mentioned a number that corresponded with the number in red. It was the number of days he’d been without a cigarette. He never told anyone, just went about the business of quitting.

Dad made this decision after he’d recovered from having a mass removed from his throat. The doctor had been sure it was cancer, but it turned out to be benign. We were all so relieved. Dad had said before the surgery “If it’s cancer, I’m not gonna keep on smoking because it won't matter anyway. If it’s not cancer, than I’m gonna quit”. So, without making any big deal about it, Dad kept the promise he’d made to himself and quit smoking.

I wish I could end this story more cheerfully. Dad did enjoy many more smoke-free years, at least 20. But in 2003 another mass was found in his esophagus. This cancer was much larger and found much later. It was so large anything Dad ate had to fit through the size of a small soda straw, mostly soups and other liquids. It was painful and frustrating. No one would choose to die this way. Did it begin years ago when Dad was still smoking? We'll never know for sure. But I am sure that quitting gave him many years of easier breathing and better health than he would've had if he'd kept smoking. And it gave us many more years to enjoy him, too.

So if you are a smoker, how about giving it a try? You know, just take the day off from smoking. It’ll be a gift to those who love you, but most of all, it will be your gift to yourself.

If you’re not a smoker, why not pledge to help someone quit? It’s a long, hard road and your support could be the thing that gives someone the courage to go one more day with out that smoke.

For more information and help about quitting, visit http://www.cancer.org/Healthy/StayAwayfromTobacco/GreatAmericanSmokeout/index

Hope you give quitting a try today. Praying you make it last forever.

Eating Whataburgers in the Car

Yesterday I sat in my car in Target's parking lot, eating a hamburger and thinking wistfully about my dad.

Dad died April 1, 2004 of esophageal cancer. I was down in Texas taking care of him back then. In the months preceding his death, a tumor in his esophagus left him unable to swallow anything that could not fit through a straw. This made eating quite a challenge. If that wasn’t bad enough, Dad also suffered from dementia (possibly from cancer in his brain) so he really didn’t understand or remember that he had to be very careful about what he ate.

Consequently, anytime we were eating together we'd eat only liquids or something super soft that could fit down his obstructed esophagus. His favorite, his “comfort food”, was Milk Toast, which if you’re not an "old timer" from Texas you may think that is just a term used to describe a wimp. Milk Toast is hot milk poured over buttery toast, and really not too bad, but it's not getting featured on the Food Channel anytime soon, either. Most of the time it was the Jell-O and soup which was fine for both of us. Plus it was a good reminder to me of what Dad was going through, of how much he'd lost to not be able to even eat normally.

Occasionally though, I'd get really hungry for some "chewable" food and sneak off to get a "Whataburger". The first time I did it, I sat in the restaurant and ate. When I walked into the house an hour later Dad asked me where the hamburgers were. He could smell them from my clothes and figured I brought take-out.

After that, whenever I would get the burger buzz, I'd use the drive-thru, park a block or so away from home and eat in the car. After I finished, I'd bury the trash outside under what was already in the can and leave the car windows open to make sure there was no burger aroma to give me away.

It was one of those sad/funny/guilt inducing things that you do when someone you love has cancer and you're the primary caregiver. As I sat in the car back then, I'd feel silly and guilty, with my heart aching because of Dad's illness.

The worst was probably dealing with the dementia. Dad couldn't remember why he couldn't eat or what the problem was. It was a constant struggle, but we were blessed with a strong and loving relationship of trust in each other and God got us through that oh, so difficult time. As hard as it was, it was also one of the greatest blessing of my life to be able to give back to my father just a fraction of the loving care he'd always given to me.

Today my dad is in heaven, healed, and eating heavenly hamburgers every day I suspect.

I'd like to ask you a favor. If your dad is still here, please give him a big hug or send him a loving e-mail for me today.