"DIARY OF A SMOKER" BY DAVID SEDARIS Over Christmas we looked through boxes of family
pictures and played a game we call "Find Mom,
find Mom's cigarettes." There's one in every
picture. We've got photos of her pregnant,
leaning towards a lit match, and others of her
posing with her newborn babies, the smoke
forming a halo above our heads. These pictures
gave us a warm feeling. She smoked in the
bathtub, where we'd find her drowned butts
lined up in a neat row beside the shampoo
bottle. She smoked through meals, and often
used her half-empty plate as an ashtray. Mom's
theory was that if you cooked the meal, you
were allowed to use your plate however yoy
liked. It made sense to us. Even after she wils
diagnosed with lung cancer, she continued to
smoke, although less often. On her final trip to
the hospital, sick with pneumonia, she told my
father she'd left something at home and had
him turn the car around. And there, standing at
the kitchen counter, she entertained what she
knew to be her last cigarette. I hope she
enjoyed it. It never occurred to any of us that
Mom might quit smoking. Picturing her without
a cigarette was like trying to imagine her on
water skis. Each of us is left to choose our own
quality of life and take pleasure where we find
it, with the understanding that, like Mom used
to say, "Sooner or later, something's going to
get you."

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