Dentist

I went to the dentist today. I was there two weeks ago. The receptionist asked at check-in if anything had changed since then, and I said, “Well, my best friend died.”

She responded, “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. I meant, like… your insurance information.”

The question should have been clearer, because the obvious answer to “Has anything changed since you were here two weeks ago?” is yes. Everything has changed. Entirely and completely. My best friend died. I am 9 days into the longest I have ever gone without talking to her, and that number will only continue to grow. I don’t know how I am functioning and even showing up to the appointment didn’t feel real.

But my insurance hasn’t changed.

I had forgotten my headphones, so I had 90 minutes alone with my thoughts while I had 2 cavities filled. There are plenty of things you can do to avoid thinking about the fact that your best friend died. You can take care of your children. You can answer emails. You can make dinner. You can go to the grocery store. You can go to the dentist because you already had the appointment. It is harder to avoid thinking about it when you are lying completely still for 90 minutes with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and listen to the equipment.

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in this same office and May was alive. She was dying, but she was alive. I could still talk to her. There was still another conversation. There was still a person I could text when something happened.

Now there isn’t. And yet I still had the appointment. She was alive when I made it, and now the day is here and she’s dead.

I still need the fillings. My address is still correct. I still have a job to go back to. My children still need dinner. The world has retained an almost offensive amount of continuity for something that feels completely different. My insurance hasn’t changed. Everything else has.