Mostly true...

I had this baaaad feeling, Dad was looking pale and scratching his head. So I followed him to his room, sat on the couch and made some minor conversation. My Dad had a lot on his plate back then, and so, he ask me to light him a ciggerette. I scoffed as a lit him a cigerrette along with my own. As I handed it to him, I commented on his bad health and recomended some excercise or diet changes. He didn't take me seriously, "I'll see my daughters children!" he retorted as he dragged deep.

I did the same, condemming myself for practising the same act, but I recognized the nesseccity for the change: "Instead of judging you for smoking Dad, I'd rather smoke your last ciggerette with you." I said naively.

Not two drags later my Dad fell back onto his bed, heart attack mixed with a minor stroke.

He survived the ordeal, and yet we still smoke. Only now I realise what it means to be alive, and we're wasting it...