How they digged their own graves

There he was. Smoking his way to the grave. A pretty good way to go if, if you ask me. If you enjoy it. Until you’re almost at the grave and then you really don’t wanna go. It’s not that you just don’t want to go anymore, cause who does? It’s what happens to you before you go. He was detoriating slowly. Deteriorate here means die slowly and painfully without you having any control over it and no amount of painkillers can stop it, but maybe deteriorate it even more ( make it slower ) which is bad news really. You’re just staying alive to be punished. Maybe that will make it easier after you’ve died already.

I asked him after his second diagnosis of confirmed cancer if it was from all the smoking, but he was quick to reply “NO”. I’ve been smoking all my life, can’t be it. If it was, it would have killed me a long time ago. But his premature aging and wrinkly cheeks were signs that this was coming sooner or later. Bless him.

This other guy I knew was convinced that he’s healthy and that his oversized gut was genetic and that it runs in the family. After a stroke he was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, high cholesterol ( heart disease) and high blood pressure. He was later served the same food he always ate and refused to make any dietary changes or take medication because he was healthy and the stroke was just an incident that had occurred and was unavoidable. The next stroke he had numbed half his face leaving him partially blind and they had to amputate one of his legs due to poor blood circulation. He wished the stroke took him all the way to the grave instead of the emergency room.

What did these 2 stubborn but loving men ( to their families ) have in common ?

Well for one they became a damn burden to their loved ones and society as  a whole. They were living on the concept that if we have all done this for a long time then it’s perfectly fine. Their loved ones now had to take special care of them.

I like how the word “special” can mean the exact opposite depending on context. You’re a special boy, can mean you are mentally retarded ( literally and/or figuratively) and it can mean you’re wonderful ( Extraordinary). Their kind of “special” treatment led to others being handicapped by serving them in “special ways” no one had the pleasure of doing.

What does this teach me though?

It teaches me to look past culture and society. It teaches me that cultural habits can be very damaging if done long enough and it can damage myself and others around me in the long run. It teaches me that to deteriorate through cultural habits is bad. It teaches me to have an open mind when someone tries to teach me or even tell me something new and not be dogmatic about it. It teaches me also to be bare the pain of seeing dogmatic and stubborn loved ones dig a hole while I can’t do a single thing about it. That’s always the hardest part.

Good news for the diabetic dude though. The next stroke took him. Not sure if it was good or bad news for his loved ones. Maybe a little bit of both. A sort of a mixed feeling.
God rest their souls, and ours too while I’m at prayer mode.Amen.

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