Emphysema...

I read this story tonight.

Funny how people with stardom, with talent, with ability...all live lives that seem to be a little empty - kind of clawing at the air to find satisfaction.

The story made me think of my aunt. As far as I know, she didn't have much talent and definitely didn't have stardom. She was born during a time in which racism was institutionalized (the 30's) and a place where it was accepted and at times promoted (Atlanta, GA). Towards the end of her life, she started working on our family tree.

She also smoked.

I remember visiting her in a hospital in Atlanta. I didn't want to be there. I've never stopped to think of how many hospitals I've been in since then, but it's been a lot. I remember seeing her in a gown. I remember being in a room with windows that didn't open, with machines that never shut down... with tubes and tape attached all over my Aunt Nelda's body.

She also had emphysema.
The doctors said that if she didn't quit, she would kill herself.
So she quit. She quit for about a month or two, that is.
Now...she's quit for good.

She was able to quit before my dad did - neither, by their disdain for cigarettes, but by the sheer inability of a corpse to inhale the sweet nectar of nicotine.

I haven't thought of her much. Now that I think about it, I can't remember much about her - nothing except how excited I was to give her a call when we visited my granny.

Now...I'm thinking of all the times I've been in a hospital in the past few years...