If we all have various identities, such as a nickname, online tag or a professional title -- then the mother of three and wife to Joe Cough is Lindsay Smith Cough. The sculptor is Lindsay Smith. The singer and musician is Hawthorne Lindsay Smith. And The Silvermoor Bramble is the online fairy world that she’s created. But Lindsay Smith Cough is also a newly certified death doula, someone who assists people at the very end of their lives in completing their paperwork such as wills, advance directives, and all the legalities; helping them decide on their arrangements for burial; talking about their legacy, whether it be a book of photos, stories, memories or anything else; being a quiet presence available to sit through the passing into death; and being a gentle helper to families in the aftermath who are swamped in loss a sea of administrative legalities. Lindsay grew up in Bar Harbor and has lived much of her life there. She’s also lived in southern Maine. She had just never lived in the Midcoast. But about ten years ago, a fluke meeting brought her here. It was the first time she’d actually seen it, and she was awed by its beauty. The grass is not greener elsewhere, but everything still seemed greener, and she told her husband Joe she wanted to move here. Call it luck, destiny or simple manifestation: three weeks later a job teaching music opened up at the Midcoast Music Academy. Joe applied, got the job, and started a few weeks later. Some months later, in 2017, they found their home in Waldoboro. And that’s exactly what it is: home.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve believed in fairies. I think I got it from my church-going grandmother who always had fairy books arounds. Whenever I thought I saw one, she’d ask me what it looked like, what was the fairy’s favorite thing to do, and who was her family. She helped open a whole world for me.
One day we went with my grandfather to a mansion – he was a piano and organ tuner, and he needed to tune an organ there, and while he was doing that, my grandmother and I had a picnic in the garden. Suddenly I heard a rustling in the bushes. I said, “Do you think those are fairies?”
She said, “I think it’s more than fairies. I think it’s Pan.” And when she said it, I freaking saw him! Pan was creeping through the trees.
Ever since, I’ve felt there is some kind of green spirit that is trying to guide me in the right direction and keep me grounded which I’ve needed at times. I’ve had a lot of loss, trauma and illness.
Losing a pregnancy is a very taboo subject. I lost two – one very early into my term, before I’d even adjusted to my being pregnant, so while it was a loss, it was nothing like the other, which was in my third term. Up until that point, it had been a very healthy pregnancy, and I had done everything right. But it was 2012, the worst flu season in southern Maine (we were living in Portland at the time) and I got the flu, which led to pneumonia. One day I stopped feeling my baby.
When I called the doctor’s office they told me nothing was wrong. They gave me a bunch of reasons why, and they told me to call back in a week if it was still the same. But I knew something was wrong.
Finally, I got an appointment at a maternal fetal clinic, and I learned what I’d already felt, that our child had died. They rushed me to the hospital because they thought there might be an infection – there was — and things spiraled from there, including giving me a drug that I was allergic. It just got worse and worse. I was very sick.
For my husband and I, it was devastating. For everyone around me, it was terrifying. My dad visited me every single day in the hospital. He taught me how to crochet, he brought me colored pencils and we drew, and he gave me baking books – anything to keep me distracted. I will always be grateful for that. In that moment, his heart was breaking for me. He focused on creativity to keep our minds placid.
Now I have three children, the oldest which is almost 20. For almost ten years, I have been a professional artist working in clay with a polymer compound. And I sculpt what I envision — fairies and pixies and goblins.
But somewhere in the middle of this, around 2021, my dad was diagnosed with ALS. If you haven’t been around it, you can’t fathom the toll it takes on both patients and families. My dad lost the ability to speak shortly after being diagnosed. And he used to be an exuberant member of a Gilbert & Sullivan troupe. But now he couldn’t sing or speak.
Soon after, his joints began to freeze which is painful. He became trapped him in his body, aware of everything around him, with his same thoughts and interests. But he was frozen. And there was nothing they could do. So, my very creative dad who never liked to sit still, who loved to be in his garden or feed the birds, or draw or travel and explore – he became a statue. And on top of that, he had a diabolical case of psoriatic arthritis which put him in excruciating pain.
Then my brother died suddenly. My dad had to grieve inside with no one to share it with, and my mother carried her own anguish alone, all while caring for my dad. I visited as much as I could, but I don’t know what she would have done without Hospice, and all the care and support they gave her.
The last year of my father’s life was the worst. I often wonder, if he’d had someone to talk about his options, what he might have chosen. The Maine Death with Dignity Act had recently passed, and he qualified for assisted death because he was an ALS patient. All I know is that a year is a long time when you’re in torturous pain.
So, after his death I began researching death care. It felt natural because I’d once even thought about being a mortician or funeral director. I found a program at the University of New England which I could do online. I signed up and flew through the coursework in a program for being an End-of-Life Doula. This June I earned my certificate.
Death is not contagious. Talking about it doesn’t mean you’ll die sooner. And it’s the same with getting your paperwork in order. It only means you’re taking care of the people you love.
I know people shy away from death. But I would say, “If you can, be there.” And if you care about them but don’t know them that well, then ask someone close to them as to what you can do. Maybe it’s cooking up a crock and bringing it, or taking over some ready-made suppers. Maybe it’s doing an errand or two or three. Maybe it’s giving them movie tickets so the kids can step away for an afternoon. All you need to do is make yourself available.
As for afterwards, it’s as simple as sitting with someone and letting them grieve in the way they need to grieve. And let the fairies manage everything else.
Fairies are sentient beings. They have a lot to do with the afterlife. They are the guardians who usher people to the places where their hearts blossomed when they were alive. That is why I believe my father is in an eternal garden, because being among his flowers was his happy place.
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