I’d like opinions. I wrote this fictional scenario and am contemplating giving it to my wife to get her to stop smoking. What do you think? Is this too hardcore a scenario, or is it just the right medicine to make her truly think about the consequences of cigarettes?
Jessica, by the way, is my newborn daughter. Chris is her fictional future husband. I am Dave. Here it is:
Jessica lay on the hospital bed, scared for her life and excited about the prospect of creating new life. Dad sat bedside. His mind traveled from this day back to the birth of his daughter, and back again.
“You came into this world via Caesarian, too, but you weren’t expected,” the father said.
“Oh, Dad, you’ve told me about my birth a thousand times,” Jessica replied.
He smiled. “I know. I just want to soothe you. I know this is scary, but they’ve done this so many times here. They’re pros. And your life is safe.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
The woman’s husband, Chris, returns from the restroom. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, as much as possible.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you’re having our baby. About an hour from now, I will be known as Daddy.”
“Yeah, and me, a mother. Who woulda thunk it? I still don’t know how we’re going to make it. I mean, it’s hard enough to take care of yourself in this world.”
“We’ll have to cut back, sell one of our cars, buy an old beat-up truck, or something. I’ll take an extra job if I have to.”
The father’s eyes move to the floor, back up, to the right and down again. He fights back tears. He has something to say, but doesn’t know if he’ll cry in the process. He breathes deeply and focuses.
"You know, your mother and I had the same issues when you were born 30 years ago, Jessica. You were a planned birth, but we had no idea you would grace us with your presence so quickly. And, your mother wasn’t working at the time. We just moved back to this area, and we were going to find her a job to save up some money before you were born, but it never worked out.
“But, we made sure that your mother was always home with you after the birth. Your mother made sure of that, because she never trusted anybody else, and she couldn’t be away from you …”
The father breaks down, crying, something he desperately wanted to avoid at this moment.
“Dave, you all right?” Chris asked.
Jessica began tearing up, too. She didn’t want to say anything, for fear she would break down, as well.
Dave composed himself, took one of Jessica’s tissues, walked to the restroom and blew his nose. He looked in the mirror. “Damn,” he thought. “I have gotten so much older in the past five years. It’s ridiculous. She kept me so strong. She did so much for me. I owe a great deal of my life to her. And, she can’t even be here for this. I just wish …”
Again, Dave cried. Again, he tried to compose himself.
Chris held Jessica’s hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just wish my mother could be here,” Jessica sobbed. “You know, when you dream of this day as you grow up, you always envision your parents there the whole way for you. I miss her so much.”
“It’s gotta be hard.”
"It really is. You know, I think back to my high school graduation, and remember her, so proud of me. She made me this photo collage of my life, and we just cried together.
"And, then college, when I graduated, she was just starting to get sick, but she still managed to make this great jewelry box. She loved crafts, and she always made me these things that I’ve stored in a chestbox she bought me when I was 12.
“But, it was when I graduated college that for the first time ever, I thought, well, I thought it was possible that she wouldn’t be there for any more of those special moments, to make me those special little things. The thought came and went so quickly, because I just couldn’t imagine …”
Tears streamed down Jessica’s cheeks. She cried in her husband’s arms.
Dave re-entered the room.
“I’m so sorry, Pumpkin. I didn’t mean to cause such an emotional furor right before the biggest event in your life.”
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s probably best that I get it out now. I fought off these thoughts for the past few days.”
“Yeah, I figured. I know how it feels. My Dad died when I was 17, and I cried the night I graduated from college. I was in a bar, drinking with buddies, just as happy as a clam. And, then, without warning, I just started bawling. Luckily, most of my buddies weren’t at the table at the time. One friend – Jeff Halpern was his name — sat there and held my hand. I have no idea where he is, but I’ll never forget him for that.”
Jessica composed herself, wiped her eyes, and looked at her father.
“What is it, Jessica?” Dave knew his daughter, and he knew when she had something important to say.
“Will this pain ever heal?”
Dave thought, thought back to all the people he’s lost in his life.
“Not totally. But, someday, you will be able to remember your mother without the tears. I promise you that. You’ll just smile and remember all the great times. You’ll remember some of the bad times, too, but it will be so distant that they won’t matter anymore. You’ll find yourself doing something that your mother used to do when you were a kid, and you’ll smile.”
Chris felt a little awkward, like he might be intruding on this family moment. At the same time, he wanted to switch the focus of this moment to the new baby the family would soon have. “Dave, what was it like when Jessica was born?” he asked.
Dave smiled. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was every emotion at once. I cried involuntarily. I mean, I never sobbed with happiness like that in my life.
“And, I was so proud of Kirsten. We didn’t even know Jessica was going to be born that day. She was due on Dec. 19, 2000. On Nov. 2, at about 6 p.m., it became apparent they were going to have to take Jessica in a matter of hours. My wife and I just looked at each other. The fear in her eyes was so strong, and I felt helpless. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared, and it was Kirsten facing the procedure.”
“Why did they have to take Jessica early, again? I know you’ve told me, but I forgot.”
"Kirsten had a condition called toxemia, which can harm the baby and the mother. It’s common among first-time mothers. Thank God you didn’t get it, Jess.
“Anyway, we were so proud of Jessica. She was premature, but she was strong. She breathed without the aid of oxygen almost immediately. In just over three weeks, she came home to us.”
Jessica looked at her Dad. “I never asked you this. Did you ever think I wouldn’t make it?”
“No. I always thought you would, but there was always fear. Even when you were home, and you had put on all the baby fat, your mother and I would still occasionally get frightened. If you weren’t moving or making any noises, sometimes we’d get out of bed and put our hand on your chest just to make sure, you know, just for our own peace of mind. But, I think all parents do that.”
Jessica looked forlorn. “What is it, honey?” her father asked.
She fought back tears. “It’s just …”
“Go ahead. Get it out.”
“I just, I know you and Mom loved me so much, and sacrificed so much for me. But, of all the things she could have done for me, so that she could be here with me to help me through this, to help me become a mother, it was the one and only thing she wouldn’t do.”
Jessica’s sadness was interrupted only by anger. Tears streamed down Dave’s eyes.
“I know,” Dave said. “She tried to quit. She really did. She bought some Nicorette gum. She used that a few times. But, it’s a horrible addiction. I quit it, but it was so hard, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And, your mother, she smoked since she was like 12 years old. In her heyday, it was two packs a day. The stress of motherhood, the stress of going back to work and still taking care of a family — it was too much for her. She could never just quit smoking.”
“I guess I just don’t understand, because I never smoked,” Jessica said, the anger starting to fade in her face.
"I know. And, I think your mother always felt she would live at least as long as her grandmother, who lived a pretty long time, despite smoking. But, once you get lung cancer, it can spread so quickly. It was a long three years your mother fought that disease — the longest and hardest years of our lives. And, still, she smoked sometimes. That’s how strong this addiction can be.
“I just wish I could turn back time and tell your Mom, if you don’t stop smoking, you’ll miss this moment. Because, I know she would quit.”
Again, Dave and Jessica cried. Chris cried, too.
Be honest with me, please.