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Rose garden
There are a lot of things I planned when I got married and had children. I planned for
grandchildren, I planned to grow old with you, I planned to grow roses in my garden, and I
planned to have a house to share with you, for us to grow old and complain about each
other. I planned to watch our grand children play in the yard and listen to all the noise. I
plan to love you forever.
But if you keep on smoking, these are the things that I will have to plan on. I will plan for a
nursing home because I will not be able to take care of you after a certain point. I will plan
on watching you cough your life away and remember I know how it feels. I will plan on
watching you whither until a strong wind could blow you away. I will plan on you carrying an
oxygen bottle every where you go. I will plan on listening to you grasp for breath every
moment of every day when it finally catches up with you. I will plan on doing things
without you because you will not have the breath or the strength. I will plan on you not
being able to be with the grand children because you are so sick, you might catch
something. I will plan on keeping a log of which medication you are on now and holding a
bucket for you when the chemotherapy makes you vomit. I will plan on watching your hair
fall out, not little by little, but in clumps. I will plan on a stroke that may leave you
paralyzed and in a wheelchair, or a heart attack that may kill you all at once. As I write
this I can’t stop crying. If all these things don’t move you I don’t know what to do, I just
wanted you to know that every time I smell cigarette smoke on you or taste it on your
lips, this is what I think of, this is what my future looks like to me. I want you to stop. I
don’t want this future, for you or me. I love you.
