As I watched her I started to daydream about the future, as parents often do. I imagined her and her older sister growing up, graduating from college, meeting nice guys, getting married and having babies, making me a grandfather. Then I glanced away for a second and looked at the cigarette in my hand. I became hypnotised by the light blue smoke swirling up into the air and everything around me faded into the background as I watched the tobacco slowly burn. Suddenly there was a bright flash and the wind was knocked out of me. After a millisecond of stark, swirling whiteness, there was nothing but still, silent blackness. It felt like I had been shot in the chest. I had no idea what was happening but my first thought was that I mustn’t die for my kids’ sake. They still needed me and I had to stick around for as long as I could to make sure they were okay. I started to panic, but there was nothing I could do. I was scared, useless and alone in the dark. After what seemed like an eternity, a distant voice became slowly clearer and eventually I could understand what it was saying.
“It’s too early to tell…” a man said.
Then I heard a female voice say, “Look, he’s waking up.”
Gradually everything around me got brighter and blurred shapes slowly crystallised into clearer images. I was in a bed. A man at the end looked at me with sympathy in his eyes and then slowly walked away. Two young women were very close and looking at me with intense concern. I was confused. “Where am I? What happened?” I asked as soon as I found my voice.
The woman on the left spoke, “You’re in a hospital. You’ve had an operation.” I tried desperately to work out what the hell was going on. I could barely move and there was intense pain in my chest. Then a shock of fear – my kids. I tried to sit up.
“Where are my children?” I asked as I struggled against the tight blankets. The two young women looked at each other and then back at me as they calmed me slowly back down to a horizontal position.
“Just try to relax, dad,” the one on the right said as everything faded away again into a deep, cold, lonely, darkness.
Dad?
Alone again in my mind I pieced together what must have happened. I must have been unconscious for years. My babies were all grown up and I had missed everything. Worse, judging by the crippling pain in my chest, I was probably never going to see them get married or have children and make me a grandfather. The location of the pain told me what kind of operation I must have had. It was definitely my lungs. Smoking. Why didn’t I give up when I had the chance? I felt such incredible despair, guilt and regret as I realised I was going to miss all the most important things in life and abandon my children to their fate. And it was all my own stupid fault. I would have given anything to go back and have another chance.
“Can I have an ice cream please, dad?” my little one was asking as she tugged at my shirt and brought me sharply back down to earth. I snapped out of it and looked at her and then at my surroundings. I was back in the bowling alley and my youngest baby was small again. I looked at the cigarette still burning between my fingers and realised at last the terrible future it could bring. I stubbed it out and seized my daughter and my second chance with both hands.