Is He Dying for a Cigarette The story I’m about to share involves someone very close to me. It’s another busy Sunday morning on a hot, steamy day. Packing papers cover the kitchen island. She’s packing up those last-minute annoying items that everyone usually throws in a garbage bag. She’s anxious because they’re closing on their new place in three days. Her partner is out getting more boxes. Suddenly, the door bursts open. He lunges for the kitchen island, gasping, “I’m not getting any better. I think I need to go to the clinic.” She knew exactly what he meant. This was not the first event. “No,” she exploded. “Don’t…