One minute I had a front tooth. The next minute I didn’t.

I was standing in the bathroom—not eating, not flossing my teeth—when it suddenly fell out. I truly can’t remember what I was doing seconds before because the shock wiped all other thoughts away. I looked in the mirror, horrified.

There are certain dental disasters that one can understand—a boxer or a hockey player getting hit in the mouth and losing a tooth, or someone biting into an apple or hard candy—but the unfairness of this hit me hard. I wasn’t doing anything wrong! Besides, I’m already snaggle-toothed because I have weeks to wait before the two implants that were started in January will be finished. Universe, I pleaded, looking skyward—could you give me a break?

I showed my family and struggled to make a joke. “Well, you know what you can get me for Christmas.” But I didn’t smile while telling the joke, and it lost its punch.

I called a dentist. The front tooth had been capped, but it wasn’t a matter of simply recementing since the post had snapped off. I got an appointment for the following day.

Meanwhile, depression set in. A person doesn’t realize how a missing front tooth affects one’s confidence and attitude. While out walking the dog, I’d encounter people and want to visit, but my words weren’t coming out crisp, and when I tried to say S’s, I sounded like a tea kettle announcing the water was boiling. 

Keeping my lips together was awkward. I’ve experienced tricky moments while eating out when spinach is caught between my teeth, but this was far worse. I kept conversations short.

What surprised me most was how automatic smiling usually is. I wanted to smile at the cashier who offered me a blessed day. I wanted to smile at the little girl who asked me to watch her cartwheels. I wanted to smile at my husband when our puppy lay on the ground, curled into a circle, and grabbed her tail. She looked like a spinning cinnamon-colored donut. 

Without being able to smile, I felt cut off, as if I’d built a wall between me and others.

Ironically, I’m reading Rana el Kaliouby’s fascinating book Girl Decoded, in which she explains how much of human communication is nonverbal. The book is mainly about how she worked to add emotion to AI, but she repeatedly emphasizes that human communication is mostly nonverbal, especially through facial expressions. “My smile is my superpower,” she writes, “and so is yours.” She explains her smile helped her break down walls, build bridges, and forge strong emotional ties. One fascinating fact she shares is that smiles are so critical for human communication that we practice smiling while in our mother’s womb.

Like many everyday gifts, I had taken my smile for granted. That small expression brightens not only our own day but often someone else’s, too. I desperately missed being able to offer one.

After my appointment, where the dentist fit me with a retainer holding my tooth in place, I smiled broadly at everyone in the office—the assistant, the dentist, and even the Wonder Woman poster hanging on his wall.

I’m not excited about the dental work ahead, but I am grateful for the important reminder. We often assume the best parts of life are big things—vacations, celebrations, milestones. But sometimes it’s the smallest abilities we miss most when they disappear.

Like the ability to share a simple smile, one that carries warmth, encouragement, and connection with another human being.