I didn't really understand how somebody could become so dependent on something at the time, especially when he knew that it was only going to hurt him. It just hurt me so bad to watch my grandpa basically ruin himself letting his grandson and best friend watch. There was nothing I could do. Everything seemed hopeless from here on. The sad fact was that everything really was hopeless. As soon as he started smoking everything just went down hill from there. All I could do was to hope that my grandpa would stop smoking, and to my dismay he did. He stopped smoking. One day he just decided to give it all up. I do not know if it was the fact that he was hurting himself more, or the feedback he was getting from the people that surrounded his life. All I know is that he quit, but at that time it may have been too late. He never really made a huge turn around: In fact, he just slowly continued to worsen. It hurt so bad to see him that way. He finally gave up the thing that was killing him, but it just seemed to continue to thrive in him. This never-ending regression in health just continued to spiral downward, until it seemed life had gotten the best of my grandpa.
He died at the elderly age of 79, which for being a smoker all his life was not bad. I guess you can say my grandpa lived a full, logevitized life, even though his last few years were spent completely miserable. I can still remember the night before he died. Everyone in my house got to see him that night except me. I had a wrestling match so I did not get home until around 11 o" clock. He didn't get to see me that night, so he called me and asked how I did. He was just happy that I made it home without getting hurt. He never really did like me wrestling. Most of the conversation was spent talking about how sick he was, which I really didn't think much of it, since it wasn't unusual for him to be sick. I just told him I loved him and that I hoped he would get better.
