Death and Smiley Faces
When I was a kid, my favorite symbol was the yellow smiley face. My motto was "Don't worry, be happy." I truly felt like I could cheer up the world by singing Bobby McFerrin's lyrics while wearing my smiley face t-shirt and matching scrunchie.
That younger me is so far from who I am now. Nowadays, I will openly admit that black is my favorite color and that I am fascinated by skulls and serial killers. Child-me would have taken a Halloween skull and painted smiley faces and bubble hearts on it. Adult me, however, would do no such thing. I have plenty of skulls and Halloween decorations, but you won't find a smiley face on any of my decor. And the only hearts you'll see are anatomically correct
Life changes you. Experiences with death
change you.
It is important for you to know that life and my experiences losing loved ones did not turn me to the dark side. I was always fascinated with dark things. As a child I tried to talk to ghosts and I pretended to perform autopsies on my stuffed animals. But as I grew, I tried more to please society, my mom, and be more girly than I was comfortable being. I had to be careful not to wear too much black, and I struggled to be pretty or cute. I saw myself as neither of those things. But still, I was always trying to be optimistic.
My first few experiences with death didn't change my "Don't worry, be happy" outlook. My maternal grandfather died when I was in elementary school. I wasn't very close with him. I knew he was gone, but I was more interested in coloring pages that said R.I.P. with my friends, and wondering if he would come back as a ghost to visit me. My paternal grandmother died when I was a freshman in high school. Her passing was difficult. She was there throughout my entire life: babysitting, taking me bowling with my siblings, going on family trips to Disney World. She was tall, strong, independent, intimidating, blunt. She was amazing. In the months before her passing, we watched her slowly waste away from Lou Gehrig's disease. It wasn't until the ice bucket challenge appeared many years later that I started calling it ALS, or that I truly understood what she went through. It was very difficult on my family. I was still at a young enough age to move on, and I was positive that I would not lose anyone else for a very long time. I was old enough, though, to start wishing on every star that my death would be quick. I would look out my bedroom window at night and pray to every star and any god that would listen.
There were other losses. Neighbors, family members of close friends. When my mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I never thought she would die. My parents hid how serious it was. My siblings and I supported her, took her to doctors appointments, chemo, radiation. I knew it was serious, but I was sure God wouldn't let my mom die. When she was in remission, I was sure she would be healthy forever. When the cancer came back in her bones, I was pretty positive she would live a long time because of modern medicine. I still prayed to whoever would listen, not for myself but for her health. I did a lot of bargaining with the stars outside my window.
For a while, she seemed to be herself and doing well. I was 16 or 17 at the time, and the daily emotional roller coaster that came with helping to care for my mom in addition to school and work and extracurriculars didn't leave me much time to think that she would ever not be around anymore. As time went on, as she became more sick and more affected by her medications, I tried to block out any thoughts of her ever passing. I was 18 years old when she died. Liver failure. Cancer. Her last couple of days are filled with memories I'd like to forget. I found myself wishing on stars again, praying to whoever would listen, that my death would be quick. And that I would at least make it to 50 years old. She didn't.
After my mom passed, I had to find out who I really was. I grew into the person I wanted to be, not the person I thought my parents wanted, or the smiley face wearing kid I thought would be best for the world. I met amazing people who were unapologetically themselves, and some who had also experienced death closely. I was also was at the age where I had to grow up. My motto went from "Don't worry" to "Always worry". Worry about my grades, my bills, my future. Try not to worry about dying slowly. For many years, I didn't think about my own death, I was enjoying my life. However, I would have told you that I was certain I would get cancer in my forties, fifties if I was lucky. Naive. I wouldn't have believed you if you told me what was going to happen to me in 10 years.
It was difficult to go on after losing my mom, even grueling at times, but I needed to keep living my life. I did, but time doesn't heal wounds like this. There are constant reminders of her absence- mother's day, posts on facebook about what its like being a mom, people sharing how much they love their mom. Cancer and death sneak into you dreams, your relationships, and your daily life in ways that you cannot predict. "Don't Worry, Be Happy" now makes me sad. After losing my mom, I never wore anything with a smiley face again. Well, unless you count the one with the blood spatter from Watchmen.
All those memories and emotions have become more potent since my diagnosis. I look back at pictures of my childhood and always start singing Queen's "These are the Days of our Lives" in my head. I would give anything to live a life as happy and carefree as I did before I experienced cancer and death. Who wouldn't?
That younger me is so far from who I am now. Nowadays, I will openly admit that black is my favorite color and that I am fascinated by skulls and serial killers. Child-me would have taken a Halloween skull and painted smiley faces and bubble hearts on it. Adult me, however, would do no such thing. I have plenty of skulls and Halloween decorations, but you won't find a smiley face on any of my decor. And the only hearts you'll see are anatomically correct
Life changes you. Experiences with death
change you.
It is important for you to know that life and my experiences losing loved ones did not turn me to the dark side. I was always fascinated with dark things. As a child I tried to talk to ghosts and I pretended to perform autopsies on my stuffed animals. But as I grew, I tried more to please society, my mom, and be more girly than I was comfortable being. I had to be careful not to wear too much black, and I struggled to be pretty or cute. I saw myself as neither of those things. But still, I was always trying to be optimistic.
My first few experiences with death didn't change my "Don't worry, be happy" outlook. My maternal grandfather died when I was in elementary school. I wasn't very close with him. I knew he was gone, but I was more interested in coloring pages that said R.I.P. with my friends, and wondering if he would come back as a ghost to visit me. My paternal grandmother died when I was a freshman in high school. Her passing was difficult. She was there throughout my entire life: babysitting, taking me bowling with my siblings, going on family trips to Disney World. She was tall, strong, independent, intimidating, blunt. She was amazing. In the months before her passing, we watched her slowly waste away from Lou Gehrig's disease. It wasn't until the ice bucket challenge appeared many years later that I started calling it ALS, or that I truly understood what she went through. It was very difficult on my family. I was still at a young enough age to move on, and I was positive that I would not lose anyone else for a very long time. I was old enough, though, to start wishing on every star that my death would be quick. I would look out my bedroom window at night and pray to every star and any god that would listen.
There were other losses. Neighbors, family members of close friends. When my mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I never thought she would die. My parents hid how serious it was. My siblings and I supported her, took her to doctors appointments, chemo, radiation. I knew it was serious, but I was sure God wouldn't let my mom die. When she was in remission, I was sure she would be healthy forever. When the cancer came back in her bones, I was pretty positive she would live a long time because of modern medicine. I still prayed to whoever would listen, not for myself but for her health. I did a lot of bargaining with the stars outside my window.
For a while, she seemed to be herself and doing well. I was 16 or 17 at the time, and the daily emotional roller coaster that came with helping to care for my mom in addition to school and work and extracurriculars didn't leave me much time to think that she would ever not be around anymore. As time went on, as she became more sick and more affected by her medications, I tried to block out any thoughts of her ever passing. I was 18 years old when she died. Liver failure. Cancer. Her last couple of days are filled with memories I'd like to forget. I found myself wishing on stars again, praying to whoever would listen, that my death would be quick. And that I would at least make it to 50 years old. She didn't.
After my mom passed, I had to find out who I really was. I grew into the person I wanted to be, not the person I thought my parents wanted, or the smiley face wearing kid I thought would be best for the world. I met amazing people who were unapologetically themselves, and some who had also experienced death closely. I was also was at the age where I had to grow up. My motto went from "Don't worry" to "Always worry". Worry about my grades, my bills, my future. Try not to worry about dying slowly. For many years, I didn't think about my own death, I was enjoying my life. However, I would have told you that I was certain I would get cancer in my forties, fifties if I was lucky. Naive. I wouldn't have believed you if you told me what was going to happen to me in 10 years.
It was difficult to go on after losing my mom, even grueling at times, but I needed to keep living my life. I did, but time doesn't heal wounds like this. There are constant reminders of her absence- mother's day, posts on facebook about what its like being a mom, people sharing how much they love their mom. Cancer and death sneak into you dreams, your relationships, and your daily life in ways that you cannot predict. "Don't Worry, Be Happy" now makes me sad. After losing my mom, I never wore anything with a smiley face again. Well, unless you count the one with the blood spatter from Watchmen.
All those memories and emotions have become more potent since my diagnosis. I look back at pictures of my childhood and always start singing Queen's "These are the Days of our Lives" in my head. I would give anything to live a life as happy and carefree as I did before I experienced cancer and death. Who wouldn't?
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