It has been kind of a long week. Well maybe more of a long month, but this last week was trying. I love Dad to pieces but I kind of draw the line at fire. I can’t recall a time in the past when I have seen him smoke so much. Cigarette after cigarette, light after light, dropped cigarette and flame. The number of consecutive cigarettes seems to be climbing and yesterday I had to put out a small “fire” on the blanket he had over his lap… maybe left a golf ball sized hole behind.
I have talked to my sister about this and we both think he needs to stop at night. The trouble is she left it to me to break this news to him. I did try last night when I brought him his new carton of cigarettes and he said it sounded like a good idea, but 2am rolled around and he was lighting one up again. The offending “fire” came from a cigarette lit when he wasn’t fully awake yet and dozed off in his chair again. I can only watch him so close and he starts to feel like I am staring at him. I know this is a long shot, but I really don’t want to die in a fire. I don’t want him to die in a fire. I don’t want a fire at all… unless it is in a grill and we have steaks on!
Something has to give. The number of cigarettes has to come down at least cutting out the night ones. At 82 I think he knows the facts well enough about the damages the cigarettes can cause (and he has COPD), but he also has to realize he is shaky now and the cigarettes do fall out of his hands. I really would prefer he just went back to smoking his pipe again… at least that smelled nice. But he needs a little bit of his own freedom to decide. In the meantime I will keep the fire extinguisher handy and sniff for smoke every so often.
Written for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (FOWC) – number