"Just Filling In"
Photo by Daniel Frank on Unsplash
Today I had a dentist appointment. Like you, I do not look forward to dentist appointments, but if the goal is to keep my own teeth as I enter the second half of life, these bi-annually cleaning appointments are a must. My family and I have been patients of our dentist for years. Usually, the dental hygienist is someone familiar who asks questions about my children, comments about the weather, or inquires about any vacations we might have taken. Hopefully the conversational aspect of the visit happens prior to the insertion of instruments into the mouth. You all know how that goes.Today, however, was different. The hygienist was someone “just filling in.” As I tried to settle into the reclining dentist chair, we began talking about the usual conversational fillers. She had warm eyes and a genuine smile. Somehow we discovered we attended the same high school, although our age difference meant we did not attend simultaneously. Her married name was familiar and I asked if she was related to a family I knew by that name. She then shared with me that yes, indeed, her husband was part of that family, and that he died three years ago from colon cancer. Her brother, she went on to say, died one year ago from ALS. (We all know what that is after hundreds of ice bucket challenges), and that her mother just died two weeks ago after a lengthy struggle with Alzheimer’s.
As she talked, composed and honest, I found myself opening to the spirit of her presence. Her words were not hard. They were not angry, and she revealed no sentiment that her burden had been unfair. She was open about the scars of her life, the challenges she has in raising three daughters on her own, and the toughness she has acquired.
What touched me most, however, was despite her wear and tear, she told me she has never been happier. Now I know that her ability to say that today did not come easy. I am sure there were many days of immeasurable heartache, moments of hopelessness, and mornings where she would rather have given anything than to live another day surrounded by death and the challenge to hold on to life. I get what it takes wear a soul beauty, share a story, and create a space of welcome.Little did she know my arrival to the dentist’s office was heavy with my own worry. The tendency for all of us, and most certainly me, is to coil within our own little space repeating the story of our day over and over again so that our ears can only hear the voice from within. The words from this dental hygienist, just “filling in” reminded me of the camaraderie we share in life. Heartache and pain are not unique, and by no means do any of us have the patent on struggle. If we allow ourselves to connect in those challenging spaces, it can only add to our beauty and life elegance.