I remember the age when I first came to understand the significance of death, when I realized my parents would likely die before me and the grief that lay ahead. I used to see my mother smoke and I would cry myself to sleep at nights worrying about it. I also would wonder why she wouldn't stop if it was obvious how much I worried about her - why she didn't want to be around for as much of my life as possible. Back then it seemed to me that she valued her habit more than she valued me.

I started smoking some years ago. I have a child in my life who cares about me and has worried about my smoking for some time. Having to a large extent lost sight of the value of my own life, this child's worries became distant. But I could never quite forget my own worries at her age, how immediate they felt. I tried not to think too much about her feelings but my mind was never completely at rest.

A few weeks ago I stopped smoking. She hugged me when she found out.

I've been told she recently gave a testimony to her church group about me quitting. I feel very blessed that it mattered that much to her for her to share it with the group like that.

It matters to me now that I don't let her down.