Six months ago today, I woke up to my first ever cigarette-free day since I first lit up many years ago. The night before that (September 1), I took my last puffs on a stick of Mild Sevens (original). It was shortly before midnight. At midnight, a mental alarm clock was to go off because that was the signal, the deadline. It was what I agreed to do and what I promised my Breast Surgeon I would do to prepare for surgery. But when I took my last puff, it wasn't because I wanted to be "clean" for surgery. I wanted to be clean. Period.
For so long before that, Anissa tried desperately to make me kick the habit. Her Dad, my ex-husband, is also a smoker. She worked hard to make us both quit. Today, she only has to worry about one parent smoking, and it's not me.
Wow, six months. I still can't believe I was able to do it. Smoking had become a huge part of my life. I smoked everytime I was bored, stressed, angry, full, having coffee, sad, happy ... I had an excuse for it each time. I simply wanted to smoke. It was something I had grown so used to. I couldn't imagine going anywhere without cigarettes. Even my Dad, whom I respected so much and feared most of the time, wasn't able to convince me to quit smoking. I am so sure he's smiling down from heaven today. I'm glad I'm making him proud even from where he is.
Now my problem is how to get N to quit. He's still at it, even if most of the time he's lonely. Hahaha. Seriously, I need to find a way to gently convince him to join me. I know I can't be forceful (that really doesn't work), but I hope I find the trick somehow.
In the meantime, I'm giving myself twin pats on the back for a job well done!
