Seven years ago, I rode a bike and my life permanently changed. It was something so simple but had effects that I feel every time I glide my tongue across the roof of my mouth. See, while I was riding that bike, I hit a parked car and then I ate a face full of pavement. I blew up my mouth with one stupid bike ride.

In the hospital - Caption thanks to my Cousin Jenny.

This wasn’t just like a couple of teeth out that can be fixed in a few dentist appointments. This was grated the gum and bone away, leaving my front teeth with nothing to hold onto. This was a team of six dentists, including two periodontists - gum specialists tasked with figuring out what to do about my gum. This was two and half years worth of surgeries and a total of $40,000. The only thing covered by our amazing health care was the $650 ambulance ride, and that was trumped by ICBC when they demanded I pay $1,300 for the damage I did to the car.

I woke up the next morning - seven years ago today - with a destroyed mouth, a ripped shirt and no idea how I got home. And it’s at times like this where one really digs into their friends. For the next month, I wasn’t alone unless I wanted to be. I had a rally of support around me: co-workers, cousins, besties and my mom.

And while over half a decade has passed since this morning, instead of mourning my teeth, I’m left thinking about those friendships. In those seven years, they have floated away as distance and time do their thing to relationships. I haven’t spoken to my friend who picked up my marred face from the gravel and told me everything was going to be okay, as his then-girlfriend was picking my teeth up out of the gravel in over five years. In that time, he moved to Sweden (I think) and back again, had a child and a life-altering accident of his own. And I wasn’t there for any of it.

Right now is arguably the scariest time in modern history. COVID-19 is ravaging the places we used to gather, relegating us to self-isolation. And with that, these distant friendships that are on the centre of my mind seem somehow further away. Instead of mourning my old and notably fabulous mouth - I was known for having perfectly straight teeth without braces in high school - like I did on this day for the previous six years, I want to celebrate those friendships that I once had. Maybe I’ll reach out, or just raise a glass and nod to them and the support they gave me. I’ll look at old photos and think of how young we all were and how gross my mouth was. Those original teeth are gone forever, except for the one I had wrapped in silver and now wear around my neck, but those friendships might not be. And that’s a thought worth keeping.

Happy Isolation. We will be okay (I hope).