A podcast subscriber sent this comment in the title above to my webpage at grimtea.com as a response to Nuggets. This is one of her nuggets. It was a great reminder and I wanted to share it with you, especially as we become involved in more conservations about death and dying. Sometimes I feel like I look too closely for every positive moment or thought, almost as though I am afraid the negative will creep in and take over my thoughts. I feel like sometimes I forget to say that death or losing someone is sad, painful, unsettling, unexpected, devastating, violent, tragic, and frightening. All that can be true about the death of someone we know, all at the same time, as well as at various times throughout our lives. As much as I speak of the Good Death and encourage you all to engage with those you care about or who will be participating in decision making for your end of life, I may be forgetting to acknowledge that sometimes the end of one’s life is not pretty, it is not peaceful, it is not among a crowd of loving faces, sharing fond memories.
Sometimes death can be full of despair, fear, terrible pain, and maybe horrific circumstances. Take a look at any investigative police TV show and death has been painful, criminal, violent, bloody and tragic. Even without a crime being committed, a death can be violent and bloody: that is reality. In addition, I think of some folks I have known who, due to their intense fear of death, died with such great torment and anguish in their facial expression. Sometimes, when I talk about my mom’s death, I mention how at peace she seemed to be. I mentioned in a recent podcast, The Tear Train, how I look for peace and comfort, and how I am working to reconcile any relationships in need of work so that at the end of my life, I will have that loving group of people I care about right there with me. Even in my marriage, one of the expectations I have is that my husband is right there with me. I want him with me in raising our children, managing our home and finances, and when struggling through hard times. You know, the battles of life. I want him in the trenches with me. I don’t want to be alone, fighting or struggling by myself. I don’t believe we were made to live life alone or to struggle alone. I believe that my family is a gift I cannot squander, nor do I want my family to squander the love and commitment I have in our relationship.
So, in life’s battles, in my struggles individually, and as I consider my own death, it is important for me to feel like I have my loved ones in the trenches with me, battling out whatever I am fighting. Right now, at my age, sometimes I am battling knee pain. Does that mean I want my family helping me out of a chair each time I want to get up from one? Not exactly. Do I want them to take over my chores, or encourage me quit my job because I am more tired, or not as sharp as I once was? Of course not! Do I want them sitting vigil over me while I’m resting, to make sure each breath is as healthy as the preceding breath? No Way! So what IS the trench I’m in today, the trench I DO want my family in with me? The battle these days is to know what I want, to feel supported in those desires, to trust my wishes will be carried out, and that they will find a positive way to honor my memory and grieve my loss, but not to the point that it inhibits their lives for a prolonged period of time. I want to them to thrive after I am gone. I want them to smile when certain memories come into their minds. I want them to feel free to make new relationships. I want them to smile. I want them to smile often.
Celebrate Every Smile. The reader who shared this is wise. While it may come across as though I want to push away sadness or grief, that couldn’t be further from the truth. My battle is to make those I love as informed as possible about my wishes so that, after I am gone, they can smile in remembrance, laugh and reminisce with people I loved and who loved me: not to stress over a casket color, how many copies of a death certificate they will need, what songs to play at my memorial, or who will pay my medical bills. Obviously I can’t control all of this. I stopped trying! But for things I can prepare them for and control, I strive to do that and battle the fears I have about pain, suffering, and the unknown with them by my side. That’s where my peace comes from. I know I am loved. I am confident in that love. That allows me to celebrate every smile. I can see a sunrise and smile because I once stood before a sunrise, holding a child’s hand, or hugging my husband or a friend, and shared a smile. I saw a sunset’s beautiful colors and smiled at the clouds streaking in all their glory across the evening sky. I can hear an ocean wave and smile because I saw a dolphin popped out of the water—what a sight!
Celebrating every smile for me includes the funny moments when shoes fell off while running, while watching my son learn how to dive into a swimming pool, when my daughter told her first joke, after having been such a quiet child. I celebrate the cashier who was gruff at our first encounter but was giggling or smiling as we ended our transaction, or the uneasy child who, after a smile from me, smiled back. I celebrate the smiles of folks I was with at the end of their lives, who smiled in silent revery at a distant memory from their life. I was not in on the memory, but I could see its impact.
What smiles do you celebrate? Which ones do you want to celebrate? How many smiles don’t even get a second thought? I have many of those, but hopefully they will add up so that when I am in need of a smile, I can grab a picture of one in my mind’s eye.
Lastly, this comment from a subscriber serves as a terrific reminder that while someone’s death, including my own, may be unpleasant, there are so many smiles that can be celebrated. I can find smiles even as my grief bubbles up and I feel like crying. I go ahead and cry. I need that cleansing. But I am grateful to have smiles to celebrate.
Got a memory or smile moment you’d like to share? I encourage you to share them here, and with someone special, or even bank it for a later time when you really need one.
Let’s call it creating a smile bank!
