C is for Chuckle

I just wrapped up a weekend in Florida with my parents and most of my siblings and their spouses.  It was supposed to be a weekend to celebrate Dad, but he was incredibly fatigued and wasn't feeling well. We still held a gin rummy tournament and had a great meal at his favorite restaurant, but we spent a lot of time discussing his health and making plans for his care.  But something wonderful happened last weekend, too.   Despite concern around my Dad, despite my own recent diagnosis, despite everything that my siblings have on their very crowded plates, we laughed.  We laughed a lot.  It's hard to describe the way we interact, but I suspect that from the outside looking in we're a bit like an improv comedy group on speed.  We hurl insults at each other, drop curse words, sing snatches of songs (usually in unison) and recite lines from classic movies. Old stories are told over and over again, and this time, photo albums that chronicled our childhood came off the shelf.  (As an aside, the 70's were not a kind decade to any of us.)

And yes, we cried.  I was hugging my brother goodbye on Sunday morning and laughing at some silly joke, and suddenly, without warning, I was sobbing.  The goodbyes were definitely harder this trip for obvious reasons, but they were sweeter, too.  We're supporting each other like never before and our emotions are more raw and more authentic than they've ever been.  You could say we are using humor to cover up our real feelings, and perhaps there is some truth in that.  But I would argue we are using humor to help us navigate through a dense fog - it is our beacon, our light.