It's Hard to Smile

One constant in Izzy's life has been her smile. We used to get comments frequently that Izzy smiled even in the hardest, most unbearable circumstances. She was a baby, in the hospital, getting poked and prodded, and she smiled. She would be heading into the doctor's office, sick (again), knowing she was probably going to get a shot, and she'd still smile for everyone. She brought light everywhere she went.

People would comment on the smile in the face of darkness and I would say: "That's Izzy." But I would think of the Maya Angelou quote: "Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives." Izzy didn't know any better. Her life was always full of pain, so she made the most of it.

We had noticed that Izzy doesn't smile as often any longer. That is normal. She is much more aware of the world. She spends a ton of time comparing herself to others and realizes that most people do not suffer from physical pain like she does. She knows that most kids are not faced with their own mortality in elementary school. Shoot. She's had to hold her tongue on tooth fairies, Santa, Easter Bunny, the whole shabang for years so as not to ruin childhood for her friends like it had to be ruined for her. Living with all of this, knowing it all, has lessened Izzy's smile.

What I didn't realize was: many times, when Izzy smiles for us, it's not real. Whenever a camera comes out, except in the very sickest of times, Izzy smiles. I assumed most of that was because Izzy is a ham and loves her picture taken. I'm sure that is true on some level. But, until last week, Izzy thought she had to smile in photos, even if she didn't want to.

Each morning that Dale leaves for work at 0 dark thirty, I text him a picture of Izzy after she wakes up. She loves this practice of saying good morning to her daddy. Thursday morning, I went to take the picture. She smiled big like always. When she was done though, she turned to me with the saddest face and said: "Mommy, sometimes it's hard to smile." I told her she didn't have to smile if it was hard. She had no idea that was an option. I assured that it was an option and she was noticeably relieved.

This morning, Izzy woke because of chest pains. She was in misery, but she still wanted to send her daddy a picture. She went to smile and looked so pained doing it. I reminded her that she didn't have to smile of if hurt, so she didn't. She wasn't completely happy with the picture. She thought it would be better with a smile, but she accepted that was the best she could give. Her daddy loved the picture without the smile. She was able to be herself and realize we still love her.

Izzy puts on a show for the rest of the world most of the time. She lets people believe she is okay when she feels horrible. There is so much we don't even realize.

As she gets sicker, her facade is too difficult to maintain, so we get more glimpses. But I still wonder how many fake smiles she is giving us each day. How tiring must it be? I try to help her break down the walls she builds, but how many times did I ask her to smile for the camera? Each time we tried to get her to see the silver lining in the hand she's been dealt, did we overlook her need to feel the pain and anger too much? Is this why she feels all alone? Because people have been telling her she must be happy/positive/upbeat when all she felt was scared and sad and angry and the world didn't want to see that?