Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on laugh.
It starts from the belly.
Sometimes it's so hard that there are tears of actual joy!
Most times, I cannot breathe and it knocks the wind and sound out of me.
Most times, I end up unable to talk for quite some time.
Most times, I cannot finish a story, the breath won't allow it to come out.
The first time you laughed so hard you cried, you were actually worried.
It made me ecstatic.
When you tell a really funny joke and I cannot contain myself, your laughter makes the room lighter.
And then, immediately, as if to clarify..."see, I'm funny"...
I do the same thing. Since I'm the one always laughing, whenever I do make a funny and make someone else laugh, I'm just so proud of myself..."see, I am funny!"...
This past year, I've lost my laugh, but you haven't.
You've watched me and you've continuously asked if I'm okay and what I need.
You've spent some time apologizing for things that were not your fault, and you found ways to make me laugh.
Not your job, but you would feel so good when I did.
You come home and immediately come and tell me all about the funny parts of your day.
Your smart-ass friends, with their smart-ass comments.
Your smart-ass come backs, and how much they make you laugh.
Have I told you how much I love all of this?
The fact that you have it, the fact that you share it, the fact that I'm still a part of your life, the fact that you love to tell me, the fact that it exists.
See love, it's easy for me to laugh. It really is actual medicine.
It really is a way to heal, to feel connected again.
And we're so lucky to have so many people that make us laugh in this little world of ours.
Dad with is dad jokes...aunts/uncles/cousins/friends/framily.
Laugh till it stops hurting baby girl and then laugh till it does.