I’ve always loved to laugh. I realize everyone’s probably nodding along in agreement: that’s certainly not a controversial statement. But I seem to really need it–deep down need it–maybe more than most people. My default facial expression has always been a smile. My life’s ambition is to have one of those faces you sometimes see on elderly people which are very deeply creased with laugh lines.
I was listening to a podcast recently, and the speaker, a comedian, was saying that one day he had been researching the definition of laughter. It said “laughter is hope made tangible.” I have no idea where that definition came from. I’m using it without giving the proper credit, but I felt it was too wonderful not to share. So I am.
Laughter has gotten me, and my entire family, through SO MANY extremely dark periods. Take my mother’s heart surgery a few years ago. During the time I was staying with her in the hospital, it didn’t look at all hopeful. I got so desperate for anything cheerful or funny that that at night, when she was sleeping, I would stretch out in the ICU waiting room or the couch in her hospital room and stream the latest Jim Gaffigan comedy special on my laptop. Sometimes that was the only thing between me and a nervous breakdown.
Following my accident, while I was at On With Life, my regimen was very demanding both physically and mentally. In the evenings a member of my family would help me down the hall to my room where there were side-by-side leather recliners. I became very attached to them–so much so so that I decided that they belonged to us, and we should take them home when I was discharged. This may not entirely have been due to my broken brain….
My speech aphasia was still severe, so my family relied on “a series of yes” or “no” question. My world was very tiny, which was probably a good thing. The list of my possible needs was finite. “Hungry? Thirsty? Bathroom? Tired? Cold? Chapstick? “As you’ll probably guess from this post, I seem to be obsessed with chapstick.
They would ask me which of the chairs I wanted, and if I wanted the foot rest up. We would call “Shpring it,” and then my current family-member-in-waiting would pull the lever to raise my feet. The origins of that phrase, once again, must have been another example of dark humor. I have forgotten now, but I may have mispronounced “spring.” Our oldest daughter has the gift of creating fun out of the most mundane tasks. After the accident, in those months, I certainly cherished that.
Then they would ask if I wanted “Burt’s Bees,” which was what I called all chapstick for several months, drape me with a blanket, and we would stream episodes of The Office on the TV. My daughters called this “my evening relax and smile therapy.”
My addiction to this show led to a little embarrassment. That Christmas when I made my first overnight home visit, I was still very prone to speaking in memorized quotes and poems and song lyrics. I was not yet very skilled at composing original sentences, which is a really complex process for the brain. This apparently led to my making a “that’s what she said” joke in front of my very conservative mother, who was up for the day from Missouri. It was 24 hours of various sorts of ribald comments, all of which I found vastly amusing. My filter, never very thick at the best of times,was totally MIA. Thank goodness I was never one for cursing or automatic bad language, or I don’t know what would have happened!
During my time on the feeding tube, I lost a lot a weight. I have gained some back since, but I’m pretty careful about monitoring my weight gain. For the time being vigorous exercise is very much out of the question. I eat little with my low level of activity. Besides, I get pretty defensive about my sweet tooth–when you can’t digest rich food, hate the taste of any drink other than water, can only tolerate tiny portions at a time, especially when in public…I mean, cut me some slack! I honestly feel as if eating sweets is my only real consolation. I know, I know, that’s a pretty unhealthy relationship with food. But it’s at least my own sickness, and I don’t feel I can control much these day.
Since the accident my family have relied a lot on very dark humor. So when people (a few of whom haven’t seen me since the accident,) say “you look great!”, my response sometimes is “Thank you.I call it the coma diet. But I can’t recommend it; it almost killed me.” Hopefully, after a startled second, this gets a huge laugh. It never fails to crack me up.
One night I was talking on the phone to my lifelong friend. It was during the time our youngest son was busy applying to colleges, and struggling to get the very best financial aid package. I told her that I had given him my permission to fully exploit the story of how how, during my entire hospitalization, he had continued to go to school as normal. This had resulted in him finally buckling down and starting to really take school more seriously, as was evidenced in the sudden rise in his cumulative GPA. I think I was also explaining to her that I felt my family had gone through so much they should get something out of it.
Sally didn’t miss a beat. She said, “there’s nothing a good mother won’t do for her son. Nothing.”
It took my poor fractured brain several seconds to get it, and then I laughed until I almost wet my pants. That’s one big reason for our lifelong friendship–we can share jokes. What a rare gift. When you find that someone, all I can tell you is, keep the attachment alive!
That definition of laughter; I love it so much. “Hope made tangible.” Hope heals. I’m a living example of that. Beauty and laughter have always been life values for me, but I used to be able to leave to go out to get them. Not anymore. So I have to be proactive to fill my house, and my life, with them all the more . Bring on the laughter!