To Share A Smile

True Life real & suitably philosophical events seasoned with a smidgen of fiction to make this tale believable, for most folks refuse to accept and believe real and true to Life events ...

To Share a Smile

Written By Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

Copyright © 2013 Marvin Thomas Cox

DBA: Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

All Rights Reserved

Martin Thomas Cox November 3, 1929 -- August 7, 2001

A Thomas C. Flynn Story

Thomas hated hospitals. He hated everything about hospitals. Though times had changed, anytime he entered a hospital he always seemed to smell ether. He knew logically that ether had not been used as an anesthetic for decades, but the emotions hospitals always seemed to stir within him shouted quite convincingly that the scent of ether, indeed, loomed in the air. Emotions are not bound by rules of logic, as neither were the many memories which had begun to revisit him lately; the smallest things triggering powerful memories.

When the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside as upward bound passengers made room for their new traveling companion. The doors closing, it immediately became noticeable that someone in the elevator had recently farted. Surveying the present company he quickly concluded the most likely suspect; a middle aged lady standing at the rear of the elevator busying herself a bit over zealously with inspecting her purse …

____________

“A woman will never own up to letting a fart.” Thomas could still hear his Father speaking, as he had shared these words when Thomas was just a little boy.

“Why not Dad, everybody farts don’t they?” Thomas simply could not believe what his Father was saying. Why would anyone lie about letting a fart? He farted … He'd heard his Father fart too.

“Well son think of it this way, how would you prove it? You see, a woman possesses a different rear end assembly than a man does. It magically allows a woman to ease out sneaky farts. Beware the sneaky fart boy, they’re silent but deadly.” His Father smiled and gave him a pat on the head, as if his son had any inkling of what his Father had said.

____________

Thomas chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes, as he reached room 332. Tapping lightly, he paused a moment before easing the door open. It was dark and shadowy inside; the lights turned low. He thought he detected the faint rumble of snoring. His Father was sleeping. Good, the old man needed his rest. Thomas seated himself quietly beside his Father, sitting back in the bedside chair. Leaning towards the bed, he took a hard look at the man lying asleep there. His Father had clearly lost more weight since his last visit. The old mans’ eyes were sunken back in their sockets; his face gaunt and pale. The gentle giant of a man he had lovingly admired as a child was no more. Time had reduced his hero to a mere shell. The man who had once held him tightly in his arms, drying his tears with tender words softly spoken, had now entered the realm of memories past. Thomas turned his face aside, hiding his tears. It just didn't seem fair ...

All children come to realize at some point, in growing up and getting older, that their parents will not be around forever. Parents get older, too, and when they do sooner or later they die. Thomas had always featured in his mind that his old man would die doing what he loved, and he loved being a custom carpenter.

The folks he had worked for over the years honestly believed that there was nothing he could not fix, or make look better. They were his friends as well as his customers, and any one of them would gladly tell you so. Even they were not prepared for this moment, a moment in the life of the old carpenter that Thomas found he was not prepared for either: It was time to say goodbye, and Thomas had no clue as to how he would get it done.

Retreating to the hallway outside, he drifted back to when this had all started a mere couple of months ago. At the time, his Father had been convinced that he had somehow injured his back at work. Several visits to the doctor with medication and physical therapy prescribed, the back pain had worsened rather than improving. Countless tests later the doctors arrived at a diagnosis: Multiple myeloma...¹

____________

“... Talk about a mouth full,” His Father had exclaimed when the doctor had first given him the straight up as to what lay ahead.

“You asked for the truth Mr. Cox. I wish I could tell you something more … Something pleasant.” Dr. Gilmore was a nice enough guy for a doctor.

“I take it your telling me it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.”

Thomas's Father seemed to always find a way to take bad news and twist it into a subtle bit of humor. The old man had managed to crack a smile, despite his discomfort.

“Your pain will increase dramatically. I suggest you hang tough for as long as you can bear it. When the time comes, and you will know that time, we'll administer radiation treatments to destroy the nerve endings in affected areas. This will buy you some relief, for what that's worth. It will not buy you time, Mr. Cox.”

Dr. Gilmore stood at bedside, using his inspection of the medical charts to avoid looking Mr. Cox in the eyes as he gave the old man the details of what lay ahead. Seldom do you detect emotion in a doctor's face. Doctors are trained in the art of emotionless professionalism. Thomas could see the raw emotion in Dr. Gilmore's facial expressions while he had explained the truth to his Father. His Father had a way of getting to people, forming an almost instant bond with folks, who suddenly felt as though they had known him for years.

“Ah doc, don't make such a big deal out of it,” Mr. Cox chided.

The doctor was now forced to look up at Mr. Cox. Their eyes met as Dr. Gilmore was momentarily taken aback. The twinkle in the old man's eyes could easily cause you to forget just how ill he really was.

“All we're talking about here is a simple matter of procedural bill transference.” Thomas's Father was beaming when he said this.

“What's that Mr. Cox?,” The doctor queried, a bit of the curious look now upon his face.

“Procedural bill transference. Didn't you go to school? You are billing me for your services, correct?,” The old man forced himself to look serious.

“Well, yes I am Mr. Cox … And yes, I went to school. Do you have a point to all this?” When not in control doctors always resorted to snootiness to hide their insecurity.

“Okay then, it’s just a matter of transferring your billing over to the undertaker's when I get tired of hanging around here with the likes of you.”

“Ah Mr. Cox, you'll miss us and you knoooow … itttttttt ...” Doctor Gilmore gave Mr. Cox a rather disgruntled look in an attempt to hide his growing smile.

Thomas stood beside them both, trying not to laugh. The old man had set the doctor up and, for all his schooling, Dr. Gilmore never saw the reverse punch line coming. Even now his Father had not lost his charm, or his sense of humor ...

____________

His Father's sense of humor would soon undergo a test few could endure while continuing to smile, as Dr. Gilmore’s prognosis became eerily surreal in its almost prophetic consummation. During the initial onset of chemo-therapy, it appeared as though a truce by way of stalemate had been established between cancer and medical team, although Dr. Gilmore was hesitant to utter the word remission. It proved to be only the quiet before the storm of a merciless onslaught.            

Thomas felt as though had never witnessed such a sick joke in his life. He had listened intently while the doctor explained to the family what was to come, but his heart and mind refused to believe that a loving Creator would allow any man to suffer that which transpired next. First, several vertebrae in the old man’s upper spine crumbled making it unbearable for him to sit up or walk, as next his ribs also began to break and crumble away one by one.             

                                                                   

As added torment, the calcium removed from the bones began causing violent nausea and vomiting, aided in their merciless attack upon the old man via strenuous bouts of rock hard stool constipation. The agony upon His Father’s face was more than could be endured by those present, as the nurses fought to keep their own composure when placing a bed pan under him. Waves of nausea washed over his body, and with each new wave the very wind was sucked from his lungs while he fought to not make a sound; fought so bravely to not complain. When other men would have shrieked to the heavens cursing their pain, cursing God, the old man never once voiced a word of protest to what he was going through.  

                                                            

During the last horrible bout, the intensity of emotion became so overwhelming that everyone silently left the room, unable to bear watching anymore. All hopes of escaping the heart wrenching scene soon evaporated, when they gathered outside the door to his room. Far worse than seeing was hearing the old man gasping with every wracking wave of nausea, bone scraping against crumbling bone, as his diaphragm rose violently up and then down again in spasmodic reflex to the pain …

____________

  

… A retreat had been instinctively made to the Long John Silver's a few blocks away from the hospital. It was a Sunday. Entering the restaurant, the folks dressed in Church clothes made it obvious that it was slightly past noon.

After picking up their orders, the family located a table where they could converse quietly. Their meal barely at rest upon the table, Thomas’s youngest son Zak realized that there was no ketchup. In a flash, the boy was up scrambling to retrieve a bottle from the nearest empty table.

As the family began enjoying their meal, Thomas's ears found themselves overhearing a conversation at another table only a short distance away.

“Mom, what's that all over your dress?” A cute little girl about twelve or so asked.

Instantly all eyes at the little girl's table locked onto the mom's dress, including all eyes at Thomas's table. As things would have it, the bottle Zak had retrieved refused to squirt ketchup when squeezed. In a moment of immature genius, the boy had concluded that slinging the ketchup bottle around like a pitcher winding up for a pitch would force the ketchup in the bottle to the top. It did just that, except the snap top on the bottle was not closed as he had thought it was. Lacking a proper seal the ketchup had exited the mouth of the bottle at lightning speed to make its impact at the table only a few feet away … A decisively red impact ...

Glancing down in response to her daughter's question, the lady found her dress now decorated much like a birthday cake with ketchup icing. Looking in horror from her dress to her husband for help, she discovered that he, too, had become an unwilling party favor. Another moment of investigation revealed that no one in the family had been spared these unsightly decorations.

Zak’s Mom became instantly furious at the sight of the woman and her ruined Sunday dress. She was just about to unleash all her anger upon her son when Thomas held up a saving hand of intervention. He knew his son. The boy was just like his grandpa. Zak had a tender heart. The boy did not always think, but he did care.

“It’s all right Zak. We know you didn’t mean to.” Thomas was looking his son direct in the eyes while he comfortingly reached across the table to place his hand upon his boy's shoulder.

Zak’s eyes had already filled with tears. His Mom's face had begun to soften as she began to cry with her son, knowing his tears were really for his grandpa.

Thomas fought back tears of his own, while his apologies and offer of payment for damages to the ketchup covered family were turned down in anger. He was determined that he would not cry in front of his family, or his Father. He would be strong for them all ...

The walk back to the hospital from Long John Silver’s was a quiet one at first, but soon sprang into much needed laughter when the hilarity of the aerial ketchup invasion began to tickle the families normally good sense of humor; a Cox family trait. Sadly, their laughter was short lived as they soon found themselves standing outside the sliding doors of the hospital entrance ... Pain and heartache awaited them on the other side … Mercilessly so! …

____________

Later that evening, the doctor came by making his rounds. In the hallway, outside Mr. Cox’s room, he saw the family gathered; hopelessness painted upon their faces. Even from outside, you could not shield your ears from the suffering going on within. Dr. Gilmore paused briefly before speaking to Thomas, his face contorted with emotion.

“Your Father is never going to admit it, but it is time for the Radiation Therapy. We will begin treatment in the morning. Mr. Cox’s condition seems stable at the moment, so I strongly suggest that you all go home and get some rest … You’re going to need it.”

Using the silence created by the impact of his words, the doctor left the family to their thoughts, entering room 332 to visit with his patient who -- despite all taboos of medical professionalism -- had become a dear friend. He could only hope the family would take his advice …

____________

… Three weeks had now passed, with his Father’s condition continuing to worsen, but at least the pain had eased somewhat. Every year about this time, his wife's family held a reunion. Thomas had decided to go it alone this trip, and allow his wife and kids to spend time with her family. He sat quietly in the chair beside his Father, thinking to himself about the events of the past few months. The silence was broken when his Father awoke from an afternoon nap ...

“Why didn’t you tell me about Zak playin’ squirt guns with that ketchup bottle?,” The old man inquired. His voice was weak, but somehow continued to carry the gentle power it always had.

“We didn't?,” Thomas attempted to mumble.

The truth was everyone knew the old man would bust a gut laughing over Zak's escapade. The very thought of the old man laughing uncontrollably in pain made telling him about the episode totally out of the question.

“You know damn well you didn’t. I wouldn't have known nothin' about it, if one of them tight lipped nurses hadn't a been gossipin' out in the hall. I ain't dead yet, and I ain't deaf neither. Now, what kind of trouble did that boy get himself into?” The old man had mustered up a bit of grin in anticipation of a good story about his grandson.

Reluctantly, Thomas began telling his Father the story of their lunch at Long John Silver’s, Zak's solution to the ketchup bottle that wouldn't squirt, and the family with ketchup all over their clothes. He left nothing out; at least he didn't think so. The old man had lost his smile ...

“You know Thomas, every now and then I wonder if you are really my son. You didn’t lie, but you made certain the story about Zak wasn’t funny. You took a great memory to be cherished all your days, something you and your son could laugh about one day -- when it is you who will be lying upon this bed talking with him -- just as I am trying to talk with you, and you made it sound like some boring news broadcast.”

As weak as he was, somehow the old man had found the strength to pull himself erect in the bed, facing his son. Before, Radiation Therapy, any notion to sit up was more than just impossible, it was excruciatingly and hopelessly impossible.

“What do you want me to say Dad? Do you want me to smile and laugh like you? Is that what you want? You’re dying Dad. What am I supposed to think about that!” Anger gripped Thomas’s voice in answering his Father.

As they both sat in silence for a moment, Thomas realized that these were the first angry words he had ever spoken to his Father.

“You could say how pissed you are that this is happening. You could say how helpless you feel that you can't keep yourself alive on your own power, much less me or your own family. You could say how very small you feel at this moment, 'cause that's how I felt when my Father died when I was only six years old. My crying did not bring him home. My anger changed nothing, except to make my heart sick inside, and instead of being able to remember my Father for all the good times, all I could do was remember that he was gone. We came into this world crying son, ain't that enough? Smile! ... It ain't you that's dying, its me, and I want to leave this world having a good laugh with my son!”

“So what do you want me to do, Dad? Tell you a joke? I'm not good at jokes. I don't understand what you want from me? I'm here ain't that enough!” Thomas slowly lowered his head. This was also the first time he had ever raised his voice to his Father.

“I want you to tell me that I am not a failure son, that’s all.” The old man was wiping tears as he spoke to his son.

“Dad, why on earth would you ever think you were a failure?” Thomas never dreamed his Father might feel this way. It was a shock to hear the words spoken.

“Because I've been trying to teach you what was taught me, and I still don’t see it in you.” Even with tears in his eyes, the old man’s face was dead serious.

“See what Dad!” Thomas was ready to break, the lump in his throat almost unbearable, as it suddenly entered his mind that maybe he was a disappointment to his Father.

“The smile son, the smile that makes other folks smile.” The old man was beginning to smile himself now, because it seemed he might be getting his son’s attention.

“I’m not good at smiling Dad, you know that. Dad, why are you always making jokes, trying to make people laugh, even now? I just don’t get it!” Thomas’s voice still had a little bite to it in speaking to his old man.

“Sure you are. You laugh all the time. You just haven't learned how to laugh at death. You can't stop it or prevent it, so why not laugh when you face it? … You think I'm brave? I'm scared son, but I don't want you to be scared. Sometimes a man is forced to smile and laugh to keep from crying; to keep others from crying. There's enough sadness in this life without making others sad at the thought of you leaving … Do you see what I am trying to say here, son?”

“See what Dad? What am I supposed to see? All I know is I'm losing youuuu! ...” Raw emotion gripped Thomas's voice ...

“That it's not about me, and it's not about you. It's about others. It's about smiles, sharing smiles, and helping others to smile in a world where all to often there really seems to be so little to smile about. It's about being strong for those who are not strong.”

“I'm trying to be strong for the entire family, Dad!” Thomas's voice had begun to quake ...

“Hiding your tears is not a sign of strength Thomas. It's a sign of weakness. With that stone face you present to everyone, you're telling your family -- your boys -- that they're weak for crying, rather than helping them to find strength in their tears by remembering the good times so that they can smile and laugh every time they cry.”

“I don't know how to do that Dad.” Thomas's stone face was beginning to crack and crumble.

“Thomas, listen to me. Death holds no sword over any man’s head if he has lived, but to reach the end of this life to realize you have never lived, never tasted of the essence of life’s precious nectar, then indeed death holds forth a terror divine. To truly live you must let go of grasping for life, otherwise you will arrive at death’s door to find that you have never really lived at all, and that end result is a far worse fate than death. Son, there are worse things in life than dying; failing to live is one of them.”

Thomas looked bewildered. “I don’t know how to stop grasping Dad, and I don’t know how to smile, not now.”

“Give your smile away son. Give it to somebody that needs it worse than you.”

It took all the strength the old man had, but he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He sat looking at his son face to face; man to man.

“How Dad, how can I give what I don’t have?” The boy turned man sat looking at his Father, trying as hard as he could to understand.

“Son, my Grandpa Green told me something when I was a boy. At the time, I was all upset and crying because my Daddy had just passed away. We sat there and Grandpa wrapped his arms around me while I sat in his lap. Like you, I was crying and complaining about losing somebody I loved, and how I had nothing to smile or be happy about … Then Grandpa gave me a bit of a squeeze and peered down his glasses at me. ‘Martin, life ain’t about being happy. It’s about making others happy around you. If you can’t find it nowhere in you to smile, then make someone else smile and soon enough you will both be smiling together. Smiles are contagious boy. Smiles create laughter, and laughter is contagious too. Real magic happens when you combine a smile with laughter: The two become contagious and addictive to all those around you.

You see the only difference between a smiling face and a sad face is the direction the corners of your lips are pointing; either up or down. When life has you down over something that upsets you, then your life becomes capsized like a boat on a stormy sea. Your smile is your only life preserver. If all you can think about is saving yourself, you’ll drown. When you stop thinking of yourself and choose to save somebody else your life is suddenly up righted upon the stormy waters to find you both riding along safely in the boat of life together. Now you both are free to sail safely in a sea of smiles, rather than an ocean of sorrows.’”

The old man’s face was glowing now in sharing this memory with a son who most reminded him of his Grandpa. He could see the old man’s eyes within the eyes of his boy.

“Wow Dad, I never knew you were that smart.” Thomas knew now that his Father was saying goodbye; they both were. They were getting down to small talk now.

“Yep, that's exactly what I told my Grandpa Green. It took me a lot of years to understand what grandpa told me that day, but I am glad he told me what I needed to hear. It's what you need to hear now son. It's what your sons will need to hear. I wish you could have met your great grandpa. You two would have been the best of friends.” His Father struggled to lie back down, as Thomas gave him a hand.

“I have Dad. I just met him. I met him through you.” Tears were now raining down Thomas's face with his strength melting away … And he was smiling! ...

“I want you to go home … Take care of your family … Sit down and have a good cry with them, and help them turn their tears into smiles.”

“You want me to just leave you here to die Dad?,” Thomas sobbed.

“You're not leaving me, son, you're taking me home to your family. Share my smile with them. Tell them all the stories that made you laugh all these years. Cry a few tears and when you cry, smile when you think of me, and laugh the way we always laughed together ...”

“Okay ... Dad; I'll go home tonight if that's what you want. Anything else?” Thomas felt crushed and helpless.

“There is one thing son ...” The old man raised his head, looking at Thomas with a most serious expression.

“Yes Dad?” Thomas wasn't sure what was about to come next ...

“Be sure you bury me deep. Weight my casket down with rocks. That way, if it comes a big rain or a flood, I won't wash up and stink you all out.” The old man's face was expressionless ...

“Dad, are you losing it!” Thomas shot up out of the chair, facing his Father.

“Hell no! I read a story in the paper once about that really happening. Can you imagine how those folks must have felt -- like a regular Noah's Ark Resurrection -- to only get themselves buried all over again? No sir, bury me deep and weight me down ...”

The old man couldn’t remain straight faced any longer, as Thomas saw that his Father was doing what he always did so well, making people laugh when they felt like crying. It did not stop Thomas from crying, but he could not stop laughing either, with both men laughing like they had not laughed together in years ...

The old man saw his son’s smile, his laughter, and his tears. A big smile now spread across the old man's face as he closed his eyes to rest. He was proud of his son. They sat together quietly for a long time … Remembering … All those good times ...

____________

It was later in the evening that Thomas noticed his Father was no longer snoring. He was also no longer suffering. After a few more tears of sorrow, mixed with a few memorable chuckles at some of the great times they had shared together, Thomas walked down to the Nurses Station to tell them his Father had gone home; M.T. Cox had gone home to share a smile! ...

(Written February 27^th, 2013)

1For Info. on this disease see: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/multiple-myeloma/DS00415/DSECTION=symptoms http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/hypercalcemia/DS00976/DSECTION=symptoms

Reviews

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn..]

Thank you so very much, Cherrie,

for investing the time to read this piece of my heart penned to page ...

Marve

[Cherrie Palmer]

Letting go is never easy and neither is finding the right words to express it. You have a power packed story here filled with charm wit sadness and a smile or two.

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham]

Thank you so very much, Cherrie,

for investing the time to read this piece of my heart penned to page ...

Marve

Posted 0 Seconds Ago