Oxygen

I see humor in most of life.  It is a very rare day I don’t at least once burble up laughter, often overflowing till my eyes are wet.  I laugh at myself, things I think of while driving, the world, other people’s antics, the dogs, whatever strikes my very healthy funny bone.  I laugh alone, with friends and family, with coworkers, and with people I barely know. 

I share my sense of humor with my mother and brother.  My mother lives with me and many days we both end up laughing so hard our guts hurt at some train of commentary we’ve gotten going.  My brother and I regularly engage in repartee, really whenever we communicate.  He married well, so family meals are spiced with laughter as we all joust with comebacks.

Recently someone asked me if my persistent joking was a way of avoiding aspects of life.  I’d never thought about it.  It is just a part of me, like breathing.  So of course the last couple months I’ve thought about it, and the answer is no.

I am often serious.  Allowing humor to slip into a serious topic makes it no less serious.  Rather as embellishing a bridge with lovely architectural details does not diminish the function of the bridge.  The people who I laugh with most often, those who share my sense of humor, are the people I’m most likely to be serious with. 

My brother, with whom I can barely converse between jokes, was the person who I texted from the emergency room at night; the person I first told it looked like leukemia; the person who answered “Understood” when I texted if the prognosis were not good I was not going to do treatment; the person who accepted the task of informing our parents; the person who drove into Boston the next morning; the person who committed to staying all day with me then bringing me home; the person who signed the paperwork as my health care proxy knowing my preferences.  By morning additional test results dramatically improved my prognosis.  I should lead a normal life with medications.  So interspersed with practical thoughts and planning for my convalescence my brother was the person with whom I shared the gift of laughter.

Humor keeps life in perspective.  I pity those with no humor, and with that I include people whose idea of a joke is an ill-disguised insult.  I pity those who cannot laugh fully as I pity those who cannot appreciate beauty or love.  Laughter is joy.  It is equivalent to gazing at a beautiful sunrise, hugging a loved one, diving into clear water.  Laughter opens the heart, the mind, and the body.  Laughter is oxygen.    

©Maria Amodei