I think, sometimes, when our world has coming crashing down around us, when things seem the most bleak, when we have suffered a tremendous blow - laughter can be the saving grace for our sanity. When things are the most serious laughter can do wonders to ease the stress in the body and thoughts whirling about in the mind. It can bring you up out of the dark place, especially after a loss. I believe that people who can't stop laughing at a funeral do so because its a defense mechanism to keep them sane, and keep them from being completely overwhelmed by their sadness.
When I was in my late twenties, I suffered from a long series of inexplicable convulsions after I had been given a medication. The doctor's could find no explanation in my brain for this, nothing that would confirm seizures. But I did learn that a small 1% of the population could react to this medicine by having these convulsive seizures. I stayed on the medicine for some time before I found this information and pulled myself off the medication.
During this time, I was also in a very dark place, trying to patch together the pieces of my dismantled life. I had suffered a series of set backs and was struggling to stay afloat financially and mentally. I ended up living with my dad and step-mom for a while. These convulsions were exasperating and scary as my parents repeatedly took me to the emergency room and dealt with my failing health.
One day, as I rested on the couch, my dad came in the room to let me know that he and my step-mom were headed out for a bit. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked. "Yes," I replied. "Good," he said, "because I wouldn't want you doing the Aardvark dance while we're gone." He then proceeded to flap his arms like chicken wings and wiggle his legs as he wobbled about the floor. I stared at him inexplicably for a brief second then howled with laughter. My dad joined in. I relish that moment. With all the seriousness going on in my life, and my depression, it never occurred to me how much I needed that laugh. And I remember feeling much better for the rest of the day.
October 7, 2005: Now that was a horribly sad day. I was driving down a dark country road on my way to visit my then husband. He had relocated due to work and we were waiting for the time to be right so I could move to join him. So I was headed out for the weekend to see him.
The winding country road was pitch black so it makes sense I didn't see the cow in the middle of the road till my head lights were on it. I think I hit it at about 45 miles an hour, dead on. It rolled up my hood, spider webbed my wind shield and then slid down the driver side of the car. Within a moment of that crash, I was rear ended by the full-sized GMC Pickup that was following too closely. It imploded the rear window. A week later, I lost the child I was carrying. I was just shy of 8 weeks along. What a tragedy.
My co-workers were made aware of my situation and at my request, did not bring it up or discuss it around me. I received a couple of condolence hugs, but that was it. I wanted to be left alone at work with my grief.
One afternoon a mouse got into the building and caused quite a commotion. One of my co-workers cornered it and placed a small box over the top of it to trap it. Several of us stood in a circle around the box debating about how to get the idiot thing outside. My co-worker Sarah said out loud for all the world to hear, "Put it in the parking lot and let Jenny run over it. She'll try and run over anything." There was a collective gasp at her audacity. I blinked a couple of times as I stared blankly at her, then from deep inside, I began to laugh. And as I did so, so did everyone else. It was such a relief. Then the cow jokes started. It was nothing distasteful or crude, but it was enough to make me giggle.
That laughter was so healing and helpful. It soothed my mind and kept me in a relatively sane place. It dispelled some of my grief and helped me fight off the cloud of depression that was hanging over my head like a threat to my very happiness.
These two incidences stick out so clearly in my mind. They were a moment of grace that helped me to cling to my sanity. So I recommend if things get too serious that you find a way to make yourself laugh. It could bring you back from the brink of disaster like it did for me.
Molly Ann
When I was in my late twenties, I suffered from a long series of inexplicable convulsions after I had been given a medication. The doctor's could find no explanation in my brain for this, nothing that would confirm seizures. But I did learn that a small 1% of the population could react to this medicine by having these convulsive seizures. I stayed on the medicine for some time before I found this information and pulled myself off the medication.
During this time, I was also in a very dark place, trying to patch together the pieces of my dismantled life. I had suffered a series of set backs and was struggling to stay afloat financially and mentally. I ended up living with my dad and step-mom for a while. These convulsions were exasperating and scary as my parents repeatedly took me to the emergency room and dealt with my failing health.
One day, as I rested on the couch, my dad came in the room to let me know that he and my step-mom were headed out for a bit. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked. "Yes," I replied. "Good," he said, "because I wouldn't want you doing the Aardvark dance while we're gone." He then proceeded to flap his arms like chicken wings and wiggle his legs as he wobbled about the floor. I stared at him inexplicably for a brief second then howled with laughter. My dad joined in. I relish that moment. With all the seriousness going on in my life, and my depression, it never occurred to me how much I needed that laugh. And I remember feeling much better for the rest of the day.
October 7, 2005: Now that was a horribly sad day. I was driving down a dark country road on my way to visit my then husband. He had relocated due to work and we were waiting for the time to be right so I could move to join him. So I was headed out for the weekend to see him.
The winding country road was pitch black so it makes sense I didn't see the cow in the middle of the road till my head lights were on it. I think I hit it at about 45 miles an hour, dead on. It rolled up my hood, spider webbed my wind shield and then slid down the driver side of the car. Within a moment of that crash, I was rear ended by the full-sized GMC Pickup that was following too closely. It imploded the rear window. A week later, I lost the child I was carrying. I was just shy of 8 weeks along. What a tragedy.
My co-workers were made aware of my situation and at my request, did not bring it up or discuss it around me. I received a couple of condolence hugs, but that was it. I wanted to be left alone at work with my grief.
One afternoon a mouse got into the building and caused quite a commotion. One of my co-workers cornered it and placed a small box over the top of it to trap it. Several of us stood in a circle around the box debating about how to get the idiot thing outside. My co-worker Sarah said out loud for all the world to hear, "Put it in the parking lot and let Jenny run over it. She'll try and run over anything." There was a collective gasp at her audacity. I blinked a couple of times as I stared blankly at her, then from deep inside, I began to laugh. And as I did so, so did everyone else. It was such a relief. Then the cow jokes started. It was nothing distasteful or crude, but it was enough to make me giggle.
That laughter was so healing and helpful. It soothed my mind and kept me in a relatively sane place. It dispelled some of my grief and helped me fight off the cloud of depression that was hanging over my head like a threat to my very happiness.
These two incidences stick out so clearly in my mind. They were a moment of grace that helped me to cling to my sanity. So I recommend if things get too serious that you find a way to make yourself laugh. It could bring you back from the brink of disaster like it did for me.
Molly Ann
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