Listening to every heart
Thank you, NancyLee...
When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, it was one of those that was inoperable. Knowing my mother as I did, I know exactly what she said to the doctors - "give me something that will keep me pain free, rush me towards my end, and let me go with dignity."
My mother was just 61 years old.
My mother smoked. My father smoked. My siblings smoked. I was the only black sheep in the family. And I remember distinctly, why.
Back in the days pre-dishwasher [heck, Mom had raised six hands that could wipe a plate and scour a pot - laziness could be expensive...and she would still have to feed us - hence, we were here dishwashers... ] but I digress.
I believe sincerely there is nothing MORE disgusting [well, yes, maybe a few things, but this one is in the top ten] when one doesn't thoroughly wipe out a dirty ashtray before dumping it in hot soapy water.
THAT one time act alone when I was young turned me off and away from cigarettes on its own.
Back in the day of my childhood, when one was known at the grocery stores, and all of their little ones, too...it was nothing for my mother to write a note to the lady at the checkout stand to allow me, a minor of 12, to bring home for her a pack of cigarettes.
I hated that walk to and from the store. I never minded the walk if I were picking up some groceries that my 12 year old arms could carry - even if the bags got heavy - but just to go for that cellophane wrapped, lightweight box made for the heaviest weight of all.
You see, it was 1964. My world had recently undergone a change of Presidents by assassination...things were moving rapidly in my young mind on how quickly things could change, and the newest term I had picked up for cigarettes was the term, "coffin nails".
And now there were ads, not many, but now and then, commercials proclaiming the dangers of smoking.
I hated those single pack trips.