Obit The Dust
It is today, with great sadness that I bid a tender farewell to a dear, dear piece of me. Literally - and I can't stress this enough - a
piece of me.
I really didn't know him well. Frankly, we talked very little. I suppose to be absolutely accurate,
I talked a lot, he was
in on the conversations but the conversations were rarely, if ever, about him.
I'm ashamed to admit, that, until very recently, I didn't even know his real name. Science referred to him as Upper Right Quadrant, Molar #2. Endo Chromatic Bicuspid Somethingorother. I just called him Toothy.
Toothy has probably been with me as long as there's been a Me to be with. No doubt, some intellectual egghead reading or listening to this, will know the exact moment Toothy came into physiological existence but, as far I'm concerned Toothy
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Obit The Dust
It is today, with great sadness that I bid a tender farewell to a dear, dear piece of me. Literally - and I can't stress this enough - a piece of me.
I really didn't know him well. Frankly, we talked very little. I suppose to be absolutely accurate, I talked a lot, he was in on the conversations but the conversations were rarely, if ever, about him.
I'm ashamed to admit, that, until very recently, I didn't even know his real name. Science referred to him as Upper Right Quadrant, Molar #2. Endo Chromatic Bicuspid Somethingorother. I just called him Toothy.
Toothy has probably been with me as long as there's been a Me to be with. No doubt, some intellectual egghead reading or listening to this, will know the exact moment Toothy came into physiological existence but, as far I'm concerned Toothy has always been there - for me, at least.
We experienced a lot of life together, although I must admit, we each took it in independently. I wonder what Toothy must have felt the first time a frozen mound of ice cream sat atop his head one second too long, reminding him once again of the raging sensitive neighbor that dwells in his basement. I wonder how he must have hopelessly tried to cope with the disparity of leafy lettuce in one mouthful and chicken wings in the next. I wonder what he and the rest of the column must have thought the first time a tongue, other than my own, set to plundering his domain.
I can't exactly say we had a phenomenal relationship - the two of us - growing up, but he was protected as much as humanly possible in those years. And he did get rudimentary dental maintenance. And he did go everywhere with me.
Ultimately I do know I played a large part in his untimely demise. My dentally-irresponsible youth spent devouring way more sugar than a boy - or a Molar #2 - can reasonably expect to handle; leading to frequent dental visits; leading to more frequent dental visits; leading to Dr. John driving a really nice new vehicle.
Eventually I suspect the toxic levels of sweeteners endured over his formative years combined with now having to share space with that odd amalgam of soft metals, likely compromised Toothy's structural integrity. I imagine, being the fighter that he - and all molars tend to be - he held on bravely, painfully occupying his space, attempting to chew some of the softer, less pointy foods I sent his way. Anything I can do to help. That was Toothy for you.
In the end, he hung on, for days by a solitary, sinewy, tired piece of old root. Dr. John wondered aloud why I hadn't been in sooner and how that tooth - rather, that fragment - had incredibly managed to stay attached. Anybody who knew Toothy knows he was never one to quit.
I will always remember those final, poignant moments with me and Toothy. They say, when the doctor leaves you alone in that room for a half hour, it's getting you ready to deal with the pain you're about to face. I guess they're right. I just never anticipated it was the emotional pain they were referring to.
Toothy was pronounced dead at 3:34 Wednesday July 11 - by me that is. Dr. John just flipped what was left of him into a yawning wastebasket marked by what looked to me to be an ominous Toxic Waste symbol. That's right, Molar #2. Give 'em hell.
For the time being Toothy's absence will be marked by nothing more than by the endodontic abyss he created. That gap - that grand chasm - represents what the other thirty one oral soldiers and I are left with. He is little more than a fading memory now. Science may one day fill that hole in my head but it will likely never come close to filling the one in my heart (the emotional one - I'm aware of their success rate in valve replacements).
So, to you, to all, a final salute to Toothy. May you rest in peace, er, pieces.
END
