Let’s Talk About Tomorrow | #55

Let’s Talk About Tomorrow – Episode 55

The Kill The Can Podcast
Recorded: July 23rd, 2025

Introduction

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Kill The Can Podcast.

I hope this finds you well. I hope the summer is treating you well, and I hope your quit is treating you well.

I’m honored that you’re joining me for this episode.

Today, I want to talk about a concept that is actually pretty foreign to KillTheCan.org.

That concept is tomorrow.

Approaching 19 Years Quit

Tomorrow is a very important day for me.

I’m talking specifically about July 24.

Tomorrow will represent 19 years that I have been free from my addiction to nicotine.

I’ve spoken many times—on this podcast, on Discord, and on the forums—about the beginning stages of my quit and how thankful I continue to be for the members of this community.

I truly believe that, even today, nearly 19 years later, I would not be quit if it weren’t for every single one of you.

I feel a level of gratitude that I can’t adequately describe.

Thank you for the hope you’ve given me over the years.

Thank you for the support.

Thank you for the accountability.

Thank you for the brotherhood.

I can never fully repay that.

Candidly, it’s part of the reason I continue doing what I do. However small my contributions to this community may be at this point, I still feel a responsibility to give back because I have received so much.

I simply want to say thank you.

I’m recording this today because I don’t think I’ll have an opportunity to record tomorrow. I have a great deal happening in my personal life.

Remembering My Father

Tomorrow also represents the second anniversary of my father’s death.

My dad passed away when he was 82 years old. He would have been 84 now.

He died from lung cancer.

He had first developed lung cancer four or five years earlier. He battled it and beat it—or at least that’s what we believed.

Approximately five years later, it returned with a vengeance.

What my father did not tell my brother and me at the time was that, when the cancer returned, he was given a Stage 4 diagnosis.

For an 82-year-old man, that diagnosis was effectively a death sentence.

Yet that man fought and battled, knowing what his doctors had told him, without ever explaining the full extent of his diagnosis to my brother or me.

He told us he had cancer. He told us he was going through chemotherapy and other treatments, but he never told us how advanced it was.

He simply said, “I beat it before. I’ll beat it again.”

I don’t believe he was lying to us.

I genuinely believe he did it because he didn’t want us to worry.

I also believe that, in his heart, he thought he was going to beat it again.

Perhaps most importantly, I think he didn’t want us to treat him differently.

He didn’t want us to treat him like a dying man.

Grief, Anger, and Understanding

The fact that he didn’t tell us bothered me for a long time.

Once I began dealing with my grief and sadness, those feelings eventually turned into anger.

His decision truly bothered me.

Then I tried to put myself in his shoes.

I tried to imagine how he felt and how I would feel in that situation.

Would I want my family—particularly my boys—to treat me differently?

I honestly don’t know.

Knock on wood, I hope I never have to find out.

It’s easy for me to sit here and say that I would be completely truthful, that I would share everything and tell my family every detail.

But I don’t actually know how I would handle it.

Even though I may not agree with the way he handled it, I can now understand it.

That is my long and rambling way of saying that I understand his decision now.

Two years later, any bitterness or anger I had toward him or toward that decision has been replaced with love, respect, and gratitude.

I’m grateful that he was my dad.

I’m grateful for everything he did for me and everything he provided over the years—his time, his effort, his support, and everything else that a father gives.

I don’t think I’ve ever articulated that before.

As I record this podcast while driving to work, this may be the first time I’ve truly put it into words.

A Toast to My Dad

Tomorrow, I will toast my dad, just as I did last year and as I will continue to do for the rest of my life.

There won’t be even a trace of bitterness anymore.

I love my dad.

I miss him.

And, in the strongest possible terms, cancer can go straight to hell.

Tomorrow Is Not Promised

I began this episode by describing tomorrow as a foreign concept.

It truly is.

I can tell you about tomorrow and explain why July 24 is so important to me.

But the reality is that I’m not worrying about tomorrow today.

When it comes to my quit—and when it comes to my life—I’m focused on today.

I cannot control tomorrow.

I don’t know that I’m promised tomorrow.

I don’t know that I’ll get there.

What I do know is that I have today.

I’m here today.

When I get to work, I’m going to sit down and post roll.

I’m going to promise that I will not dip today.

That is all I’m going to worry about.

Today, I’m honored to be quit with every one of you.

Have a good day, quitters.