For years, I called her a few times a week with the goal to say something funny enough to provoke a chuckle. As I began to spin my tale, I’d sense her anticipation. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Then what?” she’d say, coaxing me on. She was easy! She laughed at everything. I imagined her eyes brightening as she waited for the punchline.
Laughing was my mother’s default. She’d rather do that than anything else. To my mother, the world, with its flawed and imperfect people, was always good. She looked for the good, the positive, the funny. And she found it.
I read somewhere that it takes six months after someone dies to realize what you miss about them.
My mother’s sense of humor, her love of a joke, her delight at slapstick, a pun, or a pratfall. That’s what I miss.
I laugh less with my mother gone. I miss laughing with my mother. ~