You're in good shape then! By the time my father quit, the most he could do was shuffle about.
And you're absolutely right—it's hard to give up. I still remember the conversation he had with his pulmonologist. The doctor asked "So what made you choose to quit?"
Dad said "I decided to. It was a conscious choice that I wasn't doing this any more."
The doctor looked at him, smiled, and said "That's exactly right."
I'd guess you went through the same process: It's a choice. False starts to quit are simply an exercise in kicking the can down the road. Actually quitting is a conscious, decisive effort. The only other people on the planet who know what it's like are those who have suffered addiction. The rest of us? We truly don't know what you have to go through when you quit.
"The rest of us? We truly don't know what you have to go through when you quit."
You have had to deal with the fallout and loss. My mum died from cancer when I was about 25. It was a female only variety - I forget the exact name. She had an initial onslaught which was diagnosed in reasonable time, an operation that she described as "quite unpleasant" and a course of radiotherapy. I should probably point out that "quite unpleasant" is a euphemism.
... remission ... all clear ... ... oh sorry its back ... palliative care. Funeral.
Losing a parent early is horrible, even when you are nominally grown up. You should have at least 20-40 years as an adult with your parents, if only so they can ram the point home about what responsibility really looks like as you foist your ankle biters off on the oldies so you can get some respite.
Sorry, we were discussing the fall out from addiction. Yes, it is horrific. Your dad gave up and that is quite an important thing. That shows he tried to do his best for himself and especially - his family. He was old enough and ugly enough to know exactly what was happening ... and he did his best, his very best: that I am sure of.
It's unpleasant to see the eventual culmination of things you knew would eventually come to pass despite pleadings to the contrary. I'm blessed to have been able to help Mum take care of him in his latter days. Even still, despite his advanced age (75), he was still young enough to technically have 5-10 good years left to enjoy life had he not succumbed to such addiction in his 20s. But, he did everything he could to the best of his abilities, as you said. I've a lot of notes to eventually go through on some hobbies of his that I will one day dig into. The one blessing with this is when they have ample time to get their affairs in order and share things they wanted you to know.
I understand this probably sounds a bit morbid, but it's life, isn't it? It's a good reminder to us all that what we have while we're here on this Earth is incredibly fragile and we need to cherish this gift as long as we are able.
Growing up, you always hear those tidbits of wisdom: Enjoy stories from your elders, because they won't be around forever. In youthful arrogance it's easy enough to laugh it off. Being older, though, you appreciate more. I'm grateful to have had the conversations that I did. I also have a deeper appreciation of some folks around Dad's age I've gotten to know over the last few years from church. Funny how things like this can help your perspective evolve over time...
And you're absolutely right—it's hard to give up. I still remember the conversation he had with his pulmonologist. The doctor asked "So what made you choose to quit?"
Dad said "I decided to. It was a conscious choice that I wasn't doing this any more."
The doctor looked at him, smiled, and said "That's exactly right."
I'd guess you went through the same process: It's a choice. False starts to quit are simply an exercise in kicking the can down the road. Actually quitting is a conscious, decisive effort. The only other people on the planet who know what it's like are those who have suffered addiction. The rest of us? We truly don't know what you have to go through when you quit.