Why are you laughing?

My New Normal  #5

Why are you laughing?

When my grandmother died in 2000, we had to have two funerals for her. She lived nine months out of the year in Arizona and three months out of the year in New Jersey, splitting her time between her two daughters and her grandchildren. She had many friends in each state and there was no way just one service would suffice.  After we arrived in New Jersey, for the second service, my mom turned to me and told me, “We really need to find something funny about all of this, or else we are all going to have a meltdown.” Trying to find humor in the midst of a funeral (for your grandmother no less) was almost impossible. Then the funeral director invited us into the viewing room to see her  before the other guests arrived. (You need to know that Grandma had naturally wavy hair, when she arrived in NJ each summer, her hair curled into tight, poufy curls. Usually, just as the plane touched down, her hair curled right up.)  When we were escorted into the room, we all started laughing. Why? Turns out you can have bad hair days, even when you are dead, because Grandma had a post-mortem afro.

From this experience, I learned that in life’s really awful experiences, it is wise to try to find some humor in them – otherwise, it is very easy to look like you are the lead anchor in the nightly “Gloom and Doom Report.”

For example, when the court clerk confirmed that my divorce was in fact final, I spontaneously said, “I LOVE YOU!!” to her; then we both started laughing, thus sealing the end of a painful part of my life with a big smile.

When I got remarried and moved to the Midwest from Scottsdale, I was excited to live in a climate that had all four seasons; instead of “hot and not hot.” No one thought to tell me about the tornado drills though. So, one rainy July afternoon, the sirens started blazing and I cowered in my basement with my dog, frantically calling my husband – who was in Detroit – asking him what I should do. He told me to check the TV news – which told me that it might rain that afternoon. About an hour later he called me back and calmly told me about monthly drills – after a few seconds, we both started laughing (but I still jump when those sirens go off).  I think this story has become canonized amongst McGuire family members.

When I wrote my birth plan, I was warned to keep it short and simple. Mine was, “Drugs please.” I was not disappointed.

Moving four times in two years, cross country, you learn that packing up your stuff and loading it into a moving truck is nothing more than a gigantic game of Tetris; and you don’t get to move up a level if you make it all fit the first time.

A few days ago, I had to put my “find the humor in this” theory into practice, with the help of my exceptional sister-in-law, Mindi.

I was a few weeks pregnant and I started spotting. After a panicky visit to the doctor, I was put on medication and told to “take it easy” for two weeks, until my next visit. About a week later, the spotting turned into heavy bleeding. I was working with my Mindi that day, I told her what was happening, and she drove me to the ultrasound clinic, where the worst was confirmed. She then took me to her house, fed me, and entertained me all evening. The next day, my doctor prescribed some medication that would “help the process along.” Because the medication had serious side effects, I was not allowed to be alone. Mindi  took a half day at work, bought me some “supplies” and kept me company until my husband could get home. Amongst the supplies she got me were Depends. At first, I thought, “Are you serious? It is not gonna be that bad!!” Then she looked at my face and said, “You know, sometimes there comes a time when you know it will be bad and you just don’t care any more.  These are here if you need them.” She left it at that.

A few hours later, I shuffled out of the bathroom, holding the dreaded disposable undies. I looked at her, we shared a knowing look, and we both started laughing – so hard that we started crying. Then I asked her, “Do you know if the red dot goes in the front or in the back? I assume it is the back.” The hysterics continued. 

The past few weeks have been tough, but my mind keeps coming back to that pastel package of grown up “pull-ups.” And that stupid red dot. If it wasn’t for them, Mindi, and a deep desire to find humor in a dreadful situation, I would most likely be a walking zombie.  While I am not looking forward to my next move, tornado season, or exciting “life experience,” I know that it is going to wind up as a good story, hopefully with a funny ending.