Laughter

Dear Elli,

First of all, Happy Easter! 

We had a great day with our family, as usual.  Everyone was there (except Grandpa Mike because he had a bellyache).  Everyone was having fun.  And about half of us were slightly drunk.  It was a fantastic day!

Now I know I'm no rocket scientist, but something fairly obvious finally dawned on me today that I probably should've figured out decades ago.  So of course, I'm gonna tell you what happened.

So Nanny was trying to learn to take a selfie today.  She was having a hell of a time with the whole ordeal.  You see, she just purchased her first smartphone a few months ago, and she has no idea how to do anything with it.  So today we were focused on the art of the selfie.  The whole lesson was really just one mishap after another, and it was hilarious.  My mother is a beautiful woman, but the photos she was producing were horrendous.  Each photo she took was more hilarious than the last, and the whole house was eventually howling with laughter.   

So I was watching Nanny laugh today, and it took me thirty-six freaking years to figure it out, but suddenly it dawned on me. 

My mom taught me how to laugh.

And when I say laugh, I don't mean the casual little self-conscious giggle so many people produce in public.  I mean the belly-hurting, back-arching, table-slapping, almost-fall-off-your-chair, rattle-the-window-panes kind of laugh.  The kind that leaves you sore and exhausted with tears spilling down your cheeks.  That's the one she taught me.  And she taught me to do it not on rare occasion, but every single freaking chance I get.

And as I watched her wipe the tears of laughter from her eyes for the millionth time in my life, I realized something else.  I've never felt more grateful for anything in my life. 

My mom is an amazing woman.  She has powered through a ton of tough shit in her life, and she always comes out the other side laughing.  Always.  She finds the humor in everything, and laughs like hell in the face of every obstacle in her way.  She always has, and I suspect she always will. 

I meet people all the time who know Nanny.  Just about everyone loves her (even her ex-husbands), and they all feel the need to reach out to me when they find out I'm her daughter.  They all want me to know how special my mom is.  How she makes them laugh.  And how great it feels to be in the same room with her.

And they're right.  She is really special. She's my mom.  And I'm so damn grateful that she taught me how to laugh at the world.  At my troubles.  And, most importantly, at myself.

And I think that just maybe, if I could manage to be even half the woman she is, I might be able to teach you how to laugh like that, too.

I love you.

Mom