I saw him jerked in my arms, coughing out blood with eyes glued to mine. He struggled to keep his breath from fainting, holding me by my right arm with a grip strong enough to break a branch. In all the fight. He lost eventually and laid still in my hands.
That was my biological father in his best Sunday attire, prepared for church, dressed to kill, killed by what he once died for.
We all knew a day like this might come, but we never knew it would be shortly after he quit smoking.
It all started 40 years ago, so i was told. A fine young successful man given to addiction. He was far away from alcohols and detest hanging out with all manner of women just like his other business partners, but cigarettes was just as precious to him as the very breathe he breath.
He some how quitted after his first health attack, and resumed shortly not to cigarettes, but now found solace in tobacco and India hemp.
As his son, i was his right hand man, his messenger, his google map that sniffs out hidden locations where his gets his supplies without end. All I was ever thought was to be respective and obedient. Something I learn from mum herself.
"Dave, it is my greatest desire to quit smoking. I feel an empty within my soul. I feel like a big chasm had been created luring me to jump in.” This he told me a week before his death. I could hear sincerity and willingness and helplessness in his voice, but who will save him?
Each attempt to quite was a come back into smoking with reckless abandon.
"My boy, this world is full of addictions, temptations, short time pleasures and Jesus Christ. Run to the latter when the former becks on you. Don’t be a coward like me.” Those were the last words of my father a night to his death.
It’s been five years since he died. My father’s encounter with addiction and his painful departure should have been enough reason to tread on a right path.
Yes it was. I fled from smoking, but was caught by a greater force. who do i tell that i am a rapist. The one who dumps his victims bodies in the ditch every weekend.
Who? Jesus Christ? What will he make of me? A sinner or a prisoner worthy of a death sentence?
My dad had so much believe in Jesus. Yet he never got saved. What assurance do i have in this name?
THE END.
© The Pendiator
