It is December 26, 2008 and my grandmother died at 3am. It's 9pm. The day after Christmas. The day after family, happiness, and baked ham. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I didn't even get to say goodbye. So I'm dealing the best way I know how.
Jameson and Parliaments.
I fumble with my gloves and pull out a pink lighter. Some how, I figure, that if the lighter is pink it makes what I am about to do a little less disgusting and/or repulsive. I don't do it often, but I some how I always know exactly when and where to find these cylinders of tabacco. Cylinders of comfort. Cylinders of cancer.
She died from cancer, you know. Throat cancer. The kind of cancer that takes away your will to eat in order to avoid the pain. The kind of cancer that crushes your desires and pulls out your need to live.
I light the cigarette anyway.
Fuck cancer.
It feels like if I partake in something that helped take her away from me, I some how feel closer to her. It's a long shot I'm sure. But it's all I've got going for me right now. I breathe in deep and let it out slow, watching as the gray cloud of my emotions drifts away from my lips. I start to cough as the cold air rushes in to counter the warm feeling of the nicotine and I drop the cigarette from the force of my lungs.
Maybe she doesn't want me to do this.
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Andrea, you have such a wonderful gift of writing! I enjoy reading your blogs. This should really be your career because you are so good at it. You inspire me. I like to write too. Mine aren't as good as yours but I am okay with that. Anyways keep writing, I enjoy it! :)
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