+Jo Ann Hernesmaa
Funerals are educational gatherings.
My dad's best friend at work smoked, had his lung cut out from being ruined by smoking, kept smoking, and eventually died from it.
I could tell my dad was hurt that his close friend wouldn't listen, scared by what it meant that his friend couldn't stop, and sad for what it meant would happen to him years too soon.
One of my local neighbors was a teacher at the local Catholic private school He seemed friendly.
He smoked a pipe. One day, when I think he was probably about 50-55, he stopped me to ask me something.
I couldn't make out at all what he was saying. I asked him to repeat his question. The same thing; unintelligible. Just noise.
I think I may have been the last person he thoroughly taught about a subject. I still have no idea what he said.
And I will never
Oh, he'd had his tongue cut out, my mom explained to me when I got home and told her what had happened. The tobacco smoke from his pipe landing on his tongue where he sucked it in had given him cancer there. The doctors had to remove the school teacher's tongue to save his life.
And with that, I think they—ultimately smoking, that is—had taken away his way of living
his life. I think he enjoyed teaching a lot.
His home was directly next door to the home of the principle of his school.
These are things that make you even more sad as you grow to understand them better.