I hate smoking and really don’t care to be around smokers.

I lived with one.

Dad smoked for years and then quit for 15 years before he was diagnosed with cancer. I was engaged when Dad was diagnosed, many years after being divorced with twins from my first marriage.

Dad really liked my future husband and would often comment he wished he could be around to teach him to be a handyman, to help him with tasks around the house and to see him as the support figure as my twins grew up.

We were excited and scared. Would dad still be around for the wedding and would he be healthy enough to attend?

We spent hours in the hospital at his bedside as he waged his battle. There were trips to Erie and trips to this doctor and that, and treatment here and there.

Mornings before I would go to work I would sneak into the hospital and sit by his bed. Sometimes we talked, sometimes I just sat there.

He always knew I was there.

My role was difficult as I was his daughter and not his nurse — I wanted to make this right. I was the medical resource for the family and I was the one who should have had all the answers.

I did not.

I was no longer the fortress but now was on the sidelines waiting for the plays to be called out.

The wedding was changed many times so that we could be married in dad’s presence, and in the end we had our day with a beautiful wedding and honeymoon. The twins stayed with dad and mom.

The disease did not stop but proceeded on. The anguish that mom and dad carried was palpable as neither wanted to talk about what was to come next, and the burden was on me as a middleman.

I lament the time and effort they wasted in keeping up the façade until the day I told dad I was pregnant and he would be a grandfather. He looked at me and said, “I won’t be there.”

I wanted to hide in that façade, and to shore up the holes that were visible now.

In the long run, I did not.

Remember those early morning talks and just sitting by the bed? That became our time, a treasured time, with all barriers down.

We talked and talked, we laughed and cried and in the end we both paved the way for the other for the path that lies ahead. Can I say that it wasn’t painful when I lost him? No, but it did make it more acceptable and with more understanding than I could ever imagine.

We had opened those gates and everything we needed to say or do, we did.

I treasure those times we had as that was the biggest part of dad I will ever have. He is with me every day. He walks with me and talks with me in that quiet way only a father can get his message across.

He has been close to my twins as they grew into great men and they in turn passed down images of grandpa to our other children.

Although my younger kids never did meet grandpa, they can tell you stories as if they were there.

I still hate smoking, but I will talk to patients and families about being open and honest and to put their efforts in communication with each other rather than wasted effort to hide or avoid the cancer.

No matter what you do, your outcome, your hopes, it is a part of your life. Every day in some way, it is there.

Your energy is better suited to embrace it and open the gates rather than trying to keep it locked and closed.