LETTERS...

For a week now the letters have been on our fridge, spelling out Thomas' message to Uncle Jay. Each time I see them, I choke up, and hope...

Uncle Jay is my brother, Jason. He's two years younger than me, but decades younger in playfulness. He's a dad, but he's a bigger kid than any of his children... and there's no sign of that changing anytime soon.

On Christmas Eve Jason gave his kids electric guitars -- with amplifiers -- which they got to tote back to the house they share with their mother, grandparents, and great grandma. As soon as the presents were opened, Jay helped the kids plug in and they all began flailing away madly on the strings, making a noise that could be mistaken for Rudpolph passing a kidney stone. Thomas gets a little wound up when things get that crazy-noisy (which is ironic, since he is the source of most noise, most days) and he kept covering his ears to escape the cacophony. Matt and I retreated to the kitchen, to finish making dinner, and Jason slipped out front to smoke a cigarette.

Like many smokers, Jason is hooked. Even a close relative getting a diagnosis of lung cancer didn't make him want to stop... but then, the relative didn't quit, either, even when the doctor wouldn't do surgery until she'd been smoke-free for ten days. For five months she kept smoking, and finally the doctors put her in the hospital to force her to stop... and then they removed half of one of her lungs. Jason went to visit her, but he lit up as soon as he came out of the hospital... That's the power of nicotine.

When Jason came back in, Thomas brought him to the kitchen and arranged four letters on the fridge: Q-U-I-T.

In the living room the guitars -- still not tuned, but oh-so-amplified -- twanged away with a merry beat. The kids were hollering over the noise, adding to it, and then playing louder to cover up the yelling.

"Hey, buddy, are you spelling 'quiet'?" Jay asked. He laughed, but it was with a note of amazement. I looked over and was impressed, too... who knew Thomas could attempt 'quiet'?

But Thomas wasn't spelling 'quiet.' He came over to Jay and began patting his jacket pockets, looking for something. Jason looked at me, puzzled, but I was puzzled, too. Thomas went back to the letters and pushed them more firmly together: Q.U.I.T. Then Thomas lifted his face into the air and blew imaginary smoke.

Now Jason was staring at Thomas. He looked at me, and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Is this what you were looking for, buddy?"

Thomas smiled and made his agreeing sound, "Mm, hmm!" and then ran off to play. He'd gotten his point across; it was time to move on.

The noise from the living room didn't get any quieter, but for a moment there was no sound at all in the kitchen. Matt, Jason and I just stood there, staring at each other and the letters marching across the front of our refrigerator.

Q.U.I.T.