Saturday, 28 July 2012
Humour. It is how life is lived.
I do know a few humourless people. I don't know how they get through their days.

Our family laughed. We struggled just like other families, but for some reason, we had fun doing it. Or maybe that's just in hindsight. Don't get me wrong, we fought. There's no way you could live 8 (at one point even 10) people in a four bedroom house without fights. There were even knives involved at one point (inside joke - maybe shared in another post). Those, we laugh about now.

My mother struggled with some pretty heavy health issues all during my childhood. (I now call her, among other things, the Incredible Bionic Woman - no original parts left) Maybe I only see her through the rose-coloured glass of daughter-hood, but I don't remember her wallowing in self-pity. When she could crack a joke about it, she did. "I can laugh about it, or I can cry about it. I choose to laugh." Believe me, there is an endless stream of colostomy jokes.

My mother - laughing until she cries 
(yes, she IS wiping her eyes with a sock - What? It was clean)

There were many funny moments during my trip to spend time with my dad while Mom went "home" (to Newfoundland) to pack up the last of her things in the old house. Most of the laughs came from some reference to Dad's fading memory. Even he found giggle-worthy moments, like advising me to pay attention to directions, because "you might want to ask someone at some point, and you don't need to look at me".

But the best one was the morning Mom was due home. Dad was excited and was up and dressed (reference past "dirty clothes" post) before I even got out of bed. I stumbled out to the kitchen and saw him finish washing the last of his breakfast dishes.

"Wow! G'morning Dad...You've got your breakfast gone already?"
"Gone but not forgotten."
"What did you have?"
"I don't know."

I looked at him. He looked at me. We chose to laugh.


Post a Comment