Grief & Fear: It Only Hurts When You Don't Laugh

My mother eventually left the room (to blow her nose and wipe her eyes, I think), leaving my aunt and I alone. It was awkward. Frightening, overwhelming, and awkward. No matter how old you are, how many times you've experienced such horrors, no one knows what to say. We each sat there, locked in a silence which belied our swirling innards, too afraid to even make eye-contact. That seemed to be such bullshit. I loved my aunt. I was devastated and scared, but this wasn't about me. Not now. Now this was about her.

I may have only been 18 myself but my aunt, at just 30 or so, wasn't that much older, and, not that anyone can be prepared for such thing, my aunt had little kids and a jerk of a husband to boot. She didn't have many folks to lean on. When she needed me most, was I going to just sit there and remain awkward? No. So I relied on the one thing that seemed to serve our family well in many areas: humor.

My aunt had always complained about her small bosom, saying she'd been 'ripped off by God that way.' I figured I'd start there...

"So God must be hard of hearing," I started. She lifted her blank stare from her hands and looked at me. "You ask him for giant zoomers," I continue, my hands gesturing big boobs, "and he gives you tumors."

It took one second and then my aunt was laughing -- laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face. The tension was broken and like any ham with an appreciative audience, I continued.

"So you ask him for a 'great rack' and he hears, 'Please attack.'"
"You ask him to 'fill out that sweater' and he must have heard 'sick so I can get better'."
"You ask him for 'more than a handful' and he thinks that's problem size not breast size."

At some point my mother walked back in. At first she was smiling; how great to see her sister laughing so hard! Then, as she discovered what I was saying, her face changed from happy to alarmed.

"Mom doesn't seem to appreciate the black humor," I said.

"Well, I don't appreciate the black tumor," my aunt replied -- partly playing hard-of-hearing-God but also just being honest.

"Well, if he 'can't hear you', maybe he'll 'cunt heal you'," I offered.

My aunt laughed and my mom (probably too startled by the language to do anything else) had to give in and laugh to.

"Did you ask for 'Christmas bells' and get 'cancer cells'?"
"Good thing you didn't ask him for a train, he might have heard brain..."

My aunt was really getting into it so she tried to keep it going. "I asked him for big boobs, and all I got was your uncle," she cackled.

That was getting a bit too personal for me (attacking my uncle -- however deserved -- seemed like something I'd better not do) and I was running out of God-is-hard-of-hearing cancer jokes anyway (as you can clearly see). So I tried a different line.

"Boy, you must really inhale deep for the cigarettes to affect your cervix," I said.

My aunt slapped the table and was laughing so hard she could barely choke out her own joke, "Yeah, you should see the smoke rings I can make."

"No doubt you are popular at cocktail parties," I replied.

My point is that laughter really is the best medicine. My aunt kicked cancer's ass then. (She eventually went into remission for several years, then stopped her check-ups and died a few years later. It likely could have been avoided; so get those check-ups ladies!) She whooped it's ass good then because of her attitude.

I was reminded of all of this when I walked down the street yesterday and I saw in a store window a pink tee-shirt which read, "Hey Cancer... You Picked the Wrong Broad." How wonderful that women, and men too, are no longer staying at home hiding. They are out and fighting. Like any other group, the grief-stricken and horrified need not remain closeted.

Then again, what ever it is that's got you down shouldn't. And it won't if you use humor. If I didn't, couldn't, use humor to get through life and it's many problems/challenges, then I don't think I'd have made it this far... However 'far' it is that I have gotten. (And yes, you should read that with humor.)

Humor worked for my aunt while she used it. And it also worked for us at her funeral. It may sound strange, but we sat around telling funny stories about Aunt Vicki, including the 'bad jokes' about God and cancer. It still seems a far better way to honor and celebrate her life. (And you need not wait 'til you lose someone to celebrate life.)

Attitude goes a long way. Grief is handled in many different ways; so is fear. I prefer to use humor and if 'wry' isn't enough? Then black humor it is.

So go forward and make the grief funny. Make the fear freakin' hysterical.

It only hurts when you don't laugh.

PS If you're looking for more wise-crackin' one-liners and other jokes to support yourself or your loved ones, check the message boards. I've got, as they say, a million of 'em. Then again, maybe I should save them for my own t-shirts...