Christmas Day hasn’t been great. Not terrible. Just… heavy.
Mom was a little bummed out that more of her family didn’t reach out, and I could feel that disappointment sitting in the room with us like an extra guest who didn’t bring a gift. I sat there frozen in anxiety, staring straight ahead, craving a cigar like it was whispering my name from another universe.
I did the right thing. I told her.
Mom stepped in immediately and made sure I didn’t smoke. No lectures. No drama. Just quiet protection. That mattered more than she probably knows.
On top of the cravings, there’s the weight gain. It’s real, and it’s undeniable. I’ve gone from a 34 waist to a 38. Four sizes. That one stings a little. My healthier friends were right all along. Quitting cigarettes is only part of the equation. With the cancer scare looming again, I can’t pretend exercise and diet are optional side quests. They’re part of the main story now.
Still, Christmas dinner happened. Mom made turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes, the kind of meal that doesn’t fix everything but does soften the edges. Food as comfort. Food as love. Food as tradition holding the line.
In the end, Christmas Day turned out to be just another day. A difficult one. A successful one. A day where I didn’t smoke, even when my nerves were screaming for relief.
That counts.
I got this. 🎄💪
by Dan and Bonkers
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