My father was in his forties when a routine check up at the doctor’s office made him aware of an illness he hadn’t realized he had, and it scared him quite a bit as he had heard very negative things from people who suffered from or were the relatives of those who had it.  The doctor had told my father he had “a touch of emphysema”, as I heard him quote many, many times over the years, as he proudly described how he crumpled his pack of cigarettes right then and there in the doctor’s office, throwing them away on his way out, never to light up again.  Perhaps that is why he died peacefully in his sleep over forty years later.  
I caught a very bad cold in my early twenties when I still smoked, making it very uncomfortable to do so, depriving me of any enjoyment from it while I was sick.  The cold, complete with laryngitis, lasted longer than any cold I had ever had, giving me the opportunity to give up smoking for good, quite easily.  Despite my good fortune, I do appreciate how difficult it must be to give up smoking without a similar incentive, so when my husband decided to quit smoking, I gave him all the support I could…at first.  
He attended a cessation meeting while I waited in the car.  The meeting was held at a local hotel, along with other meetings for a variety of purposes.  After quite a while, I saw a group of people exit the building, getting in their cars and driving away.  To my disappointment, my husband was not among them.  A short time later, another group walked from the building to the parking lot in much the same fashion, again watching them hopefully that this would be the smoking cessation group.  It was not.  Within minutes, a group of running individuals left the hotel at such speed, I thought for a moment it was on fire.  The only fire was at the end of each match immediately lit as each individual got into his or her car, breathing a sigh of contentment before opening the window to release the smoke and looking as though a new pope had been selected before driving away.  Finally, my husband who was one of the few who had thought to bring their cigarettes with them, lit up before completely clearing the building, walking slowly to the car for the drive home.  
He had been told to pick a date in the very near future on which to quit smoking and that is what he did.  After three pleasant smelling, smoke-free, albeit agonizing, days without cigarettes, having our heads bit off by the bear with whom we suddenly found ourselves living, the children and I were saddened to learn that my husband had fallen off of the wagon, lighting up a cigarette, saying, “They said this might happen and I shouldn’t beat myself up for it, but to set another date and try again.”
I was a supportive wife, disappointed, but not discouraged, saying, “Well, you’ve been smoking a long time and you knew it was gonna be hard to give it up, but if you can go without smoking for three days, you can give it up for good if you make up your mind to quit.”  He set another date and remained smoke free for only two days before lighting up.  Again, I was disappointed, but supportive and a third date to kick the habit was chosen.  This attempt lasted only 24 hours before he began smoking again and I was less supportive than I had been during the first two tries, and a great deal louder, “Every time you decide to quit, you act like you’re the only one effected and you spend the next day or so screaming at me and the kids like it’s ALL OUR FAULT.  It’s not.  They told you at that meeting not to be too hard on yourself if you don’t succeed and that’s all you seem to remember.  Apparently, they failed to tell you not to be too hard on everyone around you during the process.  You don’t want to quit?  Well, I do.  I quit!  You?  Either quit or don’t.  I don’t even give a shit anymore.  Just leave us out of it.”  All my support had done was give him an excuse to smoke, because as soon as he saw he had exhausted my support for his failed attempts, he succeeded and has been smoke free for several years.