Humor as a Handrail

I use humor as armor. Sometimes it works.

When we went to the funeral home to see my dad before he was cremated, the director, Jesse, who was kind and precise in the way professionals earn your trust, brought my mom, my sister, and me into a small boardroom.

The room was silent.

Jesse sat down, looked at us carefully, and said he had been doing this work a long time and believed deeply in telling the truth.

We looked at each other.

He then said that while my dad had been in their care… he had taken a small fall.

The pause that followed was long enough for my brain to sprint through every possible nightmare.

Another pause followed. This one was wayyyyyyyy too long.

Then Jesse said my dad was completely fine and that everything was okay, but he felt it was important we knew.

We went in to see my dad and he looked peaceful, cared for, and exactly as he should have.

Later, outside on the sidewalk, after the hugs and goodbyes had thinned out, we stood there in a small circle not quite ready to leave.

I burst out laughing.

I asked if anyone else had assumed that when Jesse said Dad fell there was going to be a dented head or a broken nose or something visibly wrong.

Everyone laughed, which felt slightly illegal and completely necessary.

I asked whether that was information we truly needed or whether it belonged in the category of white lies that we never needed to hear.

I compared it to dropping a turkey on the kitchen floor, picking it up immediately, and never mentioning it at Thanksgiving dinner.

Nobody will know. 

The turkey is fine. Dad was fine!

There are facts, and then there are facts that help no one.

That moment fixed nothing, but humor gave us a handrail.

It let us breathe, stand up straight, and walk back to our cars without collapsing under the weight of it all.

If you have ever used humor to keep yourself together, you already know what I mean.

We’d love to hear your story if you want to share.