On Catholic Guilt & Saying Goodbye

June 1st 2011:

So, today is the day. Time to say adios to my lovely Pall Malls. I might shed a tear.

Honestly, I don't really want to quit. I like smoking... no I adore smoking. I love the smell of opening a fresh pack, taking that first drag in the morning, the way a cig tastes after a good meal. I love that it gives my restless hands something to do and the way it smooths out my jagged nerves.

Yes, true, it makes your hair and clothes stink, it's bad for your skin, it can cause cancer (but what doesn't these days) and emphysema, and it has become expensive as hell.

I have thought of these things before, but none were compelling enough to make me quit. I mean, I hardly notice the stink, I gave up on my skin years ago, I figure some form of cancer will get me, one way or another, and money, well that comes and goes (mostly goes) anyway. Also, the last time I managed to to quit for more than a couple weeks, I gained a bunch of weight, and man, my vanity just would not stand for that!

So why, might you ask, am I staring at my last three smokes trying to decide the best way to say fare-thee-well to them? Well, I will tell you...

Good old fashioned, Sicilian, Catholic Granny guilt.

My grandma, an avid smoker back in the day (she gave it up in her 60's after a  gnarly case of Valley Fever), was recently diagnosed with lung cancer. On her birthday this year - May 26th - we found out she probably only has about 6 months left. My personal fear of lung cancer is kind of nil, it barely registers - besides, she's in her late 80's now and outlived my non-smoking grandpas (who also died of cancer - colon and prostate), and in her own words she's "ready to go."

But, on Memorial day, when I called her, she asked me to quit. Then she pulled out the tears and the worry and yes, the all-powerful Guilt.

I am not Catholic, but I was raised as such, and let me tell you, the only thing that has stuck (beside an odd affinity for religious statuary, especially those little Virgin Marys) is that overwhelming feeling of guilt - for what? Who knows, but those nuns at Sunday school really knew how to grind it in. Much like the freezing cold, that weird sense of abstract guilt sinks right into your bones.

My resolve broke and I made a promise.

So now I sit, staring at those last three two Pall Malls - one to say goodbye to the morning cigarette and coffee, one to say goodbye to the post-dinner smoke, and one to say goodbye to the post... well, nevermind about that one.

So long morning cigarette! Wish me luck making it through the rest of the day...